


As It Should Be

by Femmetac



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femmetac/pseuds/Femmetac
Summary: This is a "fix" for 3x12ish onward. How Liz and Red's conversation could have gone (it retcons the whole baby situation)--you'll get the idea.Of COURSE I do not own The Blacklist, nor do I make money for this.





	1. Incommunicado

_I’m pregnant._

_I assume Tom’s the father…_

 

Those words echoed in her head, spiraling out, as she absorbed the impact of them. He didn’t think he was. Even after… _but why_ _Tom_ was all she could wrap her head around. Why would he still think… Lizzie could do nothing but shake her head, mute. Red prattled on about difficulties and the changes he had seen in her the past several weeks. Yet all Liz could think about were the changes he should have noticed in her behavior.

Granted, she had relapsed once, running to Tom after she shot Connolly, but after months of being on the lam with Reddington, he was the first person she looked for. And the first person she found. It wasn’t Tom who was waiting for her after she exited the jail, wasn’t Tom on the dimly lit street, car idling. It wasn’t Tom she ran to, wasn’t him she hung onto. Tom was gone. He may very well be someone else right now.

“Tom left,” Liz said flatly, stopping Red in mid-sentence.

Red simply gaped.

“I didn’t tell him,” she hedged, _because it’s not his_ , she added in her head. “He found a job in Boston, said he wanted to go straight and live a life without all this.”

“So I let him,” she nodded with finality.

 

* * *

 

 

It was Polaris that did it. No guy, no _man_ , had ever told her that she was his light. His way home. She had been feeling something for a while even before that; she had chided herself in the beginning, calling it a form of Stockholm syndrome. Or when she was feeling more benevolent, she reasoned that it was the camaraderie of sharing a foxhole. But in her quiet moments—what few she had alone—usually when Reddington was snoring softly nearby, she understood what it was. He pulled at her even before they were on the run together, way before, when he told her never to save him again, when he told her he would leave if she only said the word, when he flirted with her and ordered her drinks in flawless French, when she caught him watching her coming down the steps to his box. It was there. That night with the moonlight over the cresting waves, she gave in to it.

She leaned up in that stolen moment they had together, placed a hand on his arm and stepped in close when he tilted his face down toward hers. She tipped up, meeting him halfway and pressed her lips to his. The shock opened his lips and she went further, savoring, tasting. When he made to step back, she grasped his upper arms more firmly with both hands.

“No don’t,” Liz said, tipping her head back and facing his wary gaze. “Not this time, Red. No retreat, no excuses.”

That next morning was quiet, comfortable without being awkward, but he never touched her again. But he had caved that once, and she knew how he felt. She would catch his unguarded glances sometimes unaware. She heard him say her name in his sleep. She knew. And though he pulled back into his deflecting stories and guarded focus on their cases, the guard had come down just that once, and that was all she needed. He never spoke of the night they spent together, never made a move toward her in advance or to repeat the experience, but she would sometimes catch his wistful gaze and smile. She did not press for anything further; she knew he needed his defenses and his focus, and now that she knew, she could wait. Until the Blacklisters were gone, until the Cabal had fallen, until…whatever his end game was, she knew they would continue as they were. For now.

 

* * *

 

 

Yet a baby on the way brought things sharply into focus. She would have to correct him, she knew. She would have to make him see the error of his thinking. And when he suggested they have dinner at his latest safehouse to discuss yet another Blacklister, she knew it was time. She put on a lovely little black halter dress and took time to curl the ends of her hair, some flipped out, some flipped under to give more movement. She lined her eyes with a kitten wing and glossed her lips to draw attention to them. She slid into the highest heels she could manage and still not wobble, as her center of gravity had already shifted to the little bump growing under the waistline of her dress.

When Dembe finally pulled up to the house, she ogled a bit at the ostentatiousness of it. Large and Italian, ornate arches and scrolled columns. He had outdone himself, she reasoned, and chose this particular place on purpose. She wondered briefly what it was.

He greeted her with a simple, chaste kiss on the cheek, took her hand and spun her once so he could see the swing of her dress. She smiled under his appreciative gaze, watching him worry his tongue with his teeth. He liked that she had dressed up for him. Lizzie slid a hand casually through his arm and let Red guide her into the house.

“Lizzie you look lovely,” he purred as he escorted her into the dining room.

“This place is lovely,” she replied, still marveling at the architecture and the objets d’art that graced the walls and tables. Reddington swept her into the dining room before an Edwardian table flanked by a large banquette on one side and softly flaming fire in a marble fireplace on the other. Despite its size, the table setting was intimate, with her place setting just to his right. There was a water glass and a glass of orange juice, while his place held a glass of white wine—likely something other than chardonnay.

He took her hand and patted it, before removing his arm from her clasp. Red pulled out her chair and shifted her forward once she sat. When he was seated, he simply tilted his head and smiled at her. “Lovely simply doesn’t say it, Lizzie,” he said ruefully. “You look exquisite.”

“You look wonderful too,” she answered smiling, her smile beaming even brighter when she saw he was caught off guard at the compliment. “It’s a new vest, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, still disarmed at her attention. “It’s simply amazing what Brunello Cucinelli can do for a waistcoat.”

Red had taken the liberty of ordering catered service for both of them so they would not be disturbed, yet any time Elizabeth mentioned the Blacklister, Reddington hedged. So she let the subject drop and instead focused on the meal and light conversation, trying to figure out when to best broach the subject of their child.

When the meal was finished and Red suggested they step out onto the balcony for a moment, Lizzie knew that this was her opportunity—and what better moment than one similar to the whole thing? She allowed him to take her hand and lead her out the French doors and toward the balustrade. Knowing how wordy he was, she knew she had best jump on the opportunity before he launched into another story

“Red,” she began, catching him off guard again as he had already started to speak, “this is perfect. This whole night is perfect,” she smiled, touching his arm again as she had on board the barge carrying their container. “It reminds me of the night you told me about Polaris.”

His face visibly blanched in the moonlight. “Lizzie—“ he began. They had never spoken of that night, and he was loathe to have her tell him about any regrets. Especially now. Red Reddington, who had walked through fire and weathered a hail of bullets many times in his life, could not face rejection from this woman. Not his Lizzie.

“No,” she urged, patting his arm urgently, “listen. Ray. Raymond. Listen to me.”

She felt sluggish and slow. It was hard for her to find the words, but she knew she could show him. Her thoughts were getting fuzzy and she felt almost drunk, but she needed to do this thing and then maybe lie down for a bit. “Ray,” she said, swaying closer. Reddington looked piteously on and his mouth worked as if trying to form words. She silenced anything he was about to say by once more placing her lips to his. “I love you,” she said, swaying again. And then she dipped. He caught her just in time and saw her eyes glassed over. Raymond swept her up in his arms and laid her down on a chaise on the balcony behind them.

“What is this?” she asked, feeling woozy and fully aware now that something was wrong. “The baby??”

“The baby will be fine,” Reddington said slowly, “you will be fine. Nick gave us an Ambien to get you nice and sleepy, but it shouldn’t harm the child. You have quite a trip ahead of you.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed. “Reddington,” she swallowed drowsily, “what are you saying? What are you up to? I’m staying right here.”

“No Lizzie,” Raymond shook his head, “not like this. I need you safe. And your baby.” His mouth worked as though he wanted to say more, but those were the last words she heard before she dropped off to sleep.

 


	2. Woke Up Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz wakes up and starts plotting...

Woke Up Alone

 

Liz woke up as her entire surroundings thumped around her. Dazed and groggy, with a slight headache, she surveyed the small, dimly lit bedroom and wondered where she was and what was going on. Her stomach lurched slightly as they continued rolling. _Rolling_?

Then the evening’s events slowly swam back to her. Reddington. He had—he had actually _drugged_ her. Liz flung the covers off and sat up growling, ready to spit fire and vitriol as she slowly realized where she was, except the force of her sitting up left her stomach heaving and her head swimming. The rolling had slowed to a stop as the plane taxied to a terminal. Wherever that was.

When they came to a full stop, a soft knock at the door set her teeth on edge, for she was expecting to hear Red on the other side of it.

“Elizabeth?” Kaplan. “Are you awake, dearie?”

“Where is Reddington?” she growled in reply.

The door cracked open and Kaplan grimaced. _I must look a mess_ , Liz thought grimly taking in Kaplan’s crisp suit and sympathetic gaze.

“Did he tell you?” Liz asked resignedly.

Kaplan merely nodded. “Yes,” she said, grim faced at being relegated to the middle man. “He wants you and the baby safe. That’s why you’re here, high-handed as it is.”

She crossed to the younger girl, handing her a glass of water and tutting before she sat down on a low chair across from the bed.

“Where is ‘here’?” Liz asked after downing the water. God she was thirsty. And hungry, and still faintly dizzy too.

“Honduras. Tegucigalpa, to be exact,” the older woman replied tersely. “There is a house here that Reddington bought from some drug lord ages ago, and there’s a doctor who lives close by who’s already been tasked with checking in on you from time to time and seeing to your care.”

“Well, he got all that neatly arranged,” Liz said drily. She was going to strangle him to death with his _Venticinque_ the first chance she got.

“Elizabeth,” Kaplan began slowly, as if weighing her words. “Loathe as I am to say that it’s for your own good—for I hate to use such a supercilious phrase—it _is_ time for the priorities to shift. No fighter should be taken out of play, unless absolutely necessary. Reddington is aware of threats that you are not, and that it does not serve you to know about just yet. He is not merely being protective and patronizing, though I do think there’s a touch of that too.”

Without further comment, Kate brushed non-existent lint from her skirt and rose to leave, stopping and turning just inside the doorway.

“Elizabeth, we all want the same things. The end of the Cabal and their shadow government, and your and your child’s safety. Without saying more, those things are all inextricably linked.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tegucigalpa was huge. Lizzie had expected some remote town in the middle of a rainforest, but Kaplan explained that it was in fact the capital city, and as they wound their way through the city center, Liz conceded that she knew very little about the place. When they passed a Pizza Hut and her stomach rumbled again, she asked to pull in someplace soon. Kate talked the driver into stopping at La Terraza de Don Pepe for some _baliadas_.

Lizzie felt marginally better with the crispy tortillas and seasoned meat and cream, but the low simmer of rage still swarmed in her belly, and her eyes narrowed as she looked through a nearby window at children playing with a dog on the opposite site of the street. She barely saw them or the white stucco buildings in her line of sight. Already she was plotting on how to tear Reddington a new one when she finally saw him. And she wanted her hands on him, around his throat or maybe his jewels. This went beyond hampering her from doing her job. Just as Kaplan said, it was high-handed, brutish, and vaguely endearing when she saw his reasoning through the haze of anger she felt at him shunting her out of the way.

“Well dearie,” Kate said, cutting into her thoughts. “’We’d best get moving. Luis and Alma are going to be waiting for us.”

“Luis and Alma?”

“Housekeeper and groundskeeper. Raymond has a home here. Not a safehouse, but a residence he himself owns. They keep it maintained and ready anytime he needs it.”

“Why didn’t we know about this?” Liz asked almost to herself. The bureau had no knowledge of any real estate holdings belonging to any of the shell companies or aliases that Reddington had been linked to in the past.

Kaplan merely gave her a long-suffering look and continued on out the door and back to the car.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived sometime later at a large stucco building with a tiled roof. It was similar in structure to the other homes in the area and neither ostentatious nor noteworthy. It simply looked like a comfortable, two-story home in a neighborhood of the upwardly mobile. Liz didn’t know what to think. They were ushered in by an older couple, the Luis and Alma who Kate had referenced earlier.

Luis shook her hand, bowing slightly and welcoming “Mrs Reddington” to her new home. Alma however moved in for a crushing hug, patting her head and belly, kissing her cheeks and keeping a constant flow of rapid fire Spanish. Liz barely caught a word here and there, but picked up on “embarazada” at once. Apparently, given the belly pats and spouse references, they knew she was carrying and assumed they were married. Liz let herself be ushered through the house and yard as the couple showed the mistress of the house her new property. It was lovely, she had to admit. There was a terraced tile patio out back with hibiscus in bloom and palms cornering a small in ground pool. Each of the bedrooms were dressed in crisp white linen and potted plants. A tabby cat lay lounging in the reticulated pattern of sunlight streaming in from a window. She realized idly that this must be the cat from Reddington’s apartment, as she hadn’t seen him since. The markings were the same. Liz reached down the scratch at his face and chin, rubbing down his side and causing him to arch into a lazy roll under her hand so she could get the other side. He set up a loud purr to rival a rusty saw, then decided to ignore her in favor of bathing himself.

Liz spent the afternoon with the Aguilars, for that was their last name. Alma had been baking and frying, cooking all morning for _la peque_ _ña_ Reddington, as she seemed to think that the baby needed feeding as much as a full grown man. Asked why Alma thought it would be a girl, she replied, “God [will] give him a girl, to replace the one who was taken to soon.”

“But—“ she started, wrinkling her brow. From what Naomi Hyland had said, Red’s daughter was alive and keeping her distance. What had he told them? Judging from Luis’s solemn nod, he thought the same as Alma. Had Red’s daughter died somehow?

Kaplan had left shortly before lunch, so there was no asking her. She had begged off from staying any longer, saying she had to get back to Reddington. No matter. Liz would get answers one way or another, and one thing was certain—she was _not_ staying. When the Aguilars laid down for their siesta, Liz did exactly what she had planned to do earlier. She went into the master bedroom, retrieved the go-box from the wall safe that Kaplan had shown her “in case of emergencies,” and decided now could loosely be termed an emergency.

She pulled out the passport and documents she would need, cursed Reddington again seeing that her name was apparently Alisha Moneypenny, and quietly called a taxi for the airport before writing an apology note for Luis and Alma. She waited at the end of the drive in the cool shade of a palm and told herself she would indeed return when she needed to. For now, Raymond Reddington had some explaining to do.


	3. Hell Hath No Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red are back on the same continent, fireworks ensue

Hell Hath No Fury

 

Lizzie stumped through the Post Office, hobbling on the broken kitten heel. She had been in the same clothes for two days, spent the past six hours in a cramped economy seat next to a sweaty man who smelled strongly of stale cigarettes, she was hungry again, and at the security checkpoint coming in, the guards on duty stifled laughter even as they took her through the xray station and wanded her for weapons. She was still seething as she limped across the wide expanse of the office floor. A buzz of quiet stole over the room as people caught sight of her, a palpable silence that stretched out as Cooper eyed her over the shoulder of the man she was stalking down. Her brow furrowed as Reddington turned slowly on the spot to see what Cooper was staring at, his hair raised on the back of his neck as he felt all eyes on them.

He sucked in a breath when he caught sight of her and plastered a winning, yet faltering smile on his face. “Lizzie!” he began.

The broken heel went flying, missing its mark entirely and skidding across Aram’s desk as he snatched up the keyboard just in time. Liz took no notice.

“Don’t you ‘Lizzie’ me, you swine!”

Reddington winced noticeably as she caught up to him and swatted his arm. Twice.

“I have spent the last 12 hours going and coming, all over the globe. I nearly got arrested again getting into it with a handsy TSA agent, I am _starving_ , my system’s so screwed up I’ve had morning sickness since _last_ _night_ , and YOU—you unmitigated _ass_ —you are _still_ clueless!”

Aram started to speak up but thought the better of it. Cooper said nothing. Years of marriage had taught him when it was best to stay silent, and now was the time. Samar faked a cough and Ressler was trying furiously to keep a straight face.

“Shut it,” Elizabeth snapped at him, and he instantly schooled his features.

“Lizzie, sweetheart,” Reddington began again in a placating tone. It only pissed her off more. “We should talk.”

“You’re damn right we should talk,” a Nebraska twang twinging her words as she struggled for control. Her chin jutted out a bit before she turned and began to stalk off, only stopping to snatch off the other heel. “Get in my office, Reddington.” She growled over her shoulder.

“Harold, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Red’s jocular tone returned and everyone nodded, the men clearing their throats and avoiding eye contact. Samar broke down and snickered.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Reddington strolled into her office, the energy from Liz’s anger had flagged and she leaned dejectedly against her desk, one hand on a hip and the other on the desk for support, her head hanging limp on her shoulders as though keeping her neck straight took too much effort.

“Lizzie,” he said softly, approaching her from behind after closing the door quietly behind him. “I panicked.”

He did not even bother clearing the desk, merely propped a hip on it and positioned Liz in front of him so he could take her slumped shoulders in his hands and rub at the corded muscles there. She felt the tension ebbing slowly out of her and wanted nothing more than to curl into him and nap. Instead she turned and stood between his open knees as he leaned against the desk and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“Raymond,” she said, using his first name for the first time in ages. She knew it would get his attention, and he needed to look at her. “Not to panic you again…but the baby…it’s yours.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression earnest, he could not doubt her words or her certainty. He sat gaping for a moment before he started stammering, only to have her raise a hand to shush him.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t pull a stunt like that again. I can’t be certain I won’t strangle you with your own tie if you do,” she said, smoothing it down a bit for emphasis. “I want to be here with you, and you should know damn well I’m not going to get shunted to a corner somewhere while you work without me. We’re in this together, or not at all.”

“Lizzie we have to protect not just you, but the baby too now,” he urged, shaking his head. “You’re under so much threat already love. Let me at least put some extra precautions in place.”

She nodded simply. It was reasonable enough and to be honest, it made her feel a bit less vulnerable now.

“I will agree to extra precautions if you agree to tell me everything. We are long past the stage that you give me info on a need to know basis,” she added quickly when he started to protest. “If you want to swoop in and protect me, I need to know what from, and if I don’t know the dangers out there I’m liable to run headlong into them if I don’t know better. I will have whatever extra protections at work simply by being here. Once I tell Cooper I’m pregnant, I’ll be taken out of field work anyway. With whatever you add at home, I’ll be as safe as possible.”

“Lizzie, in light of things,” he said wincing at bit as he expected her refusal, “I’d really prefer if you’d stay with me.”

“Fine.”

Disbelief flickered only momentarily before his face was suffused in light. That went way easier than he’d expected.

“Raymond, I’m scared too,” she nodded feelingly, “I’m not going to say no to that. Just as much as I know your asinine attempt at locking the princess up in your castle half a world away was your attempt at keeping me safe. But we’re going to do it together, and we’re going to have to make some compromises. I’ll stay with you if you understand that I am going to help you take down the cabal still—even if that means just doing what I can from here.”

Raymond resumed rubbing her arms thoughtfully as he mulled it over. She would certainly be surrounded by protection here, but also still be susceptible to the cabal and their reach. That being said though, the team had proven themselves invested in her well-being. Aram by saving her from Peter and his team, Ressler by his sheer determination to stay the course of moral true north, and Samar and Cooper because they owed him. Cooper had thawed considerably since he had discovered he was no longer dying. It would be tricky, letting her stay here, but it could be done.

“Alright sweetheart, but you’re right as well. We need to talk.”


	4. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY some answers

Cht 4

 

He chose a posh dining room, secluded and small, with its own exit door in case they needed to bolt. Liz figured he opted for a restaurant in lieu of catered service in order to gain her trust again after the dining in fiasco. She was not wrong. Red looked uncharacteristically agitated, even fiddling with his glass, looking long over the mouth of it as if the answer to everything could be found there.

She ducked her head in an attempt to catch his eye, and Red shook himself out of his reverie and smiled. “Lizzie, you look beautiful.”

“The last time you told me that, you roofied me,” she said wryly.

Red felt a tug of chagrin, but let it pass. “I do wish you’d come away with me somewhere. I have a lovely little pied-à-terre in Paris! The shopping would—“

“No,” was the calm reply.

“There’s a sweet little bistrot on the left bank we could go to, just down from Shakespeare and Company—“

“No,” softly but firmly. She even added a smile to show him the game was up.

He sighed and laughed, shaking his head. By the time she hit her third trimester she would be such a little tyrant, a force. He welcomed it fully, remembering the words he used with Sam _, soft, then hard, then soft again_. Wrapped fully around her finger, he was, and unashamed to admit it. This was dangerous territory, he knew.

“I do have a line on a place that should do for us. It makes a tolerable enough safehouse, but we can make some fortifications,” he said dropping his smile. “I want you and the baby to be safe, Lizzie. That may include having a few houseguests. At least for a while.”

“I had already considered this actually.”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Tonight?”

“Do you think it’s too fast?” he queried, hesitating to ask if she was already regretting her decision.

Liz rolled her eyes, “I’m carrying your child. I think we left the slow lane way behind. Yes, I’d like to see it. When are we moving in?”

 

* * *

 

 

The girl was already a force, he reasoned. She swept into the stately Georgian home on Cathedral Avenue, casting her glance hither and yon with a discerning eye. She and Dembe were likely to be poring over paint colors before long. Yet as she stood in the dim light of the foyer, Raymond could not help but smile at her unconscious nods of approval. He couldn’t wait to get started on a nursery.

“This is a great place to raise a family,” Lizzie said solemnly, looking at Red across the small space. She moved to him and traced a hand down his arm before she took his own hand in hers. “Show me the upstairs,” she whispered with a coy smile.

His heart turned over, laid bare for her. He kissed the hand that was joined to his and led her slowly up the stairs. As he climbed, little did he know that they both pictured portraits of children hanging there on the wall beside them. Framed artwork from kindergarten classes and school pictures adorning the landing above. Ray led her into a smaller room with a window seat and white frilly curtains over it. _Perfect place for a nursery_ , she reasoned _, it would be so nice if we could stay and have a normal life eventually._

“Dembe may have to stay here for a while,” Raymond said, cutting into her thoughts, “but I had thought it would make quite a nice nursery…”

He trailed off as he stepped to the window and peered out around the side of the curtain. The window overlooked the front of the house and the street below. He could see the residence where he had Kate set up, all lights off, but he knew the cameras were installed and recording, just as he knew she was across town finagling a deal to secure a couple of bullet-proof vehicles. When he told Liz they needed extra fortifications, he meant it.

Looking back from the window, Red was slightly surprised to see Lizzie had moved on to another room. He found her on the next floor, a master suite that took up the entirety of the third level. He passed through the sitting area before a neat brick fireplace, straight through to the bedroom beyond. She was all the way in the bathroom, marveling over a claw foot tub. She missed the one from her old brownstone, but refused to dwell on the memories there.

“This place is amazing!” she smiled, sidling up to Red and linking her arms around his waist. “It’s perfect, in fact.”

He could not help but smile back, his heart giving such a yearning thrum at her putting her arms around him. When she leaned up and placed a soft kiss to his lips, he could not help but savor it. But it would not let go. The knowledge of what he knew weighed on him even as she glowed, and she felt it, for her smile dimmed a bit.

“Raymond what is it?” she asked perplexed. The fleeting thought struck her that he may not return her feelings as strongly, but she cast it aside as soon as it rose in her. She knew better. She knew. But still there was something…

“Lizzie, we need to talk,” Red said resignedly. He led her gently over to the sitting area, taking a seat for himself on the ottoman in front of her armchair. The fireplace held no fire, gave no warmth, nor did her gaze.

“What is it Raymond,” she said dully, the ominous feeling in her gut growing.

“I told you when we very first met that everything about me is a lie,” he began.

“Yes,” she started, only to trail off when she wasn’t sure what she could add to that. Her opinions of him, who he was, and what he stood for had changed drastically since they first met. Her initial profile would need some edits, she reasoned to herself.

“I also said that…we become who we are.”

How he wished for a story to distract her, but this was too big. Too important. And it needed saying.

“I was not always who I am.”

The trickle of dread gave way to disbelief, even the smallest flicker of curiosity, as a notion took root in her. “Who were you?” she asked slowly.

“Ben Burchfield.”

The name rang an extremely distant, vague bell… “That was the initial agent who began investigating you for stealing those documents,” she said, shaking her head.

“No dear. _I_ was the agent who began investigating Raymond Reddington for stealing documents. Among other things,” he outlined carefully, drawing it out and allowing her time to catch up. He watched the realization dawn on her face. “That’s right,” he nodded meaningfully, “I _became_ Raymond Reddington.”

 


	5. Red's story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story, at last

Cht 5

 

Liz sat, too stunned for words as all the ramifications fully sunk in from his statement. Who _are you? Why didn’t you tell me? Me. Why?_ Why _? This isn’t happening again. This is NOT happening again._

The power of that statement, even in her mind, galvanized Liz to move. She stood, and once standing, started walking, and once walking, started pacing. Her head shaking as the thoughts raced through, stream of conscious, and the one thing she could pluck out of the flow of thoughts was _why_?

“Why?” she finally said it aloud, sounding weaker than she had wanted, barely above a whisper as her throat constricted.

She wanted to run. She wanted to bolt from this stranger. But the need for answers kept her there where she had stopped at last, rooted there by the shock of her world once again upheaving and the desperate need for something to cling to…answers. Liz waited and watched as Red’s mouth worked, as if trying to formulate the syllables of explanation. He raised a plaintive hand, then lowered it as if knowing she could not bring herself to take it now.

“At first,” he began. Stopped, nodded as if urging himself to go on. “At first it was because of the fulcrum. When you said that I kept you close, kept you protected because I needed to know where it was, that was how it started—at least in part. I knew I would need it eventually, but I knew too that I would need leverage. I needed resources and forces amassed to go up against this leviathan, the Cabal. So I did what Reddington had already begun. I started dealing and maneuvering assets in his name, as if he had never died. I had been investigating him for months—his modus operandi, his associations, schemes. No was there that night who was left close to him…no one would know. Most of his previous contacts only knew him by name anyway.”

“I had nearly gotten you out of the fire, but she came through the hall and took you. There was a piece of the ceiling that fell, separated us so she could get you away from me. I got word later that Katarina had taken you to Sam and after she disappeared, I made sure he was paid well enough he didn’t ask me any questions. My family was…already gone,” he winced at the memory of what he had seen and found back home, bypassed that thought. “I knew you had it somehow—or access to it somehow. The doctor I took you to though said the memories could be retrieved later when you could…cope.” He nodded at her, his voice thickened with emotion even as the trickle of tears trailed down her cheeks. “No child should have to relive something like that. Just the threat of the fulcrum was enough to keep them off my trail, and by the time some of them started calling my bluff I had amassed a fortune and a veritable army of sources, contacts and associates myself. We had an uneasy truce. And you secured with Sam meant they would never find you, or it.”

“Then…Tom,” she whispered, coming close enough to sit in the chair once more. He didn’t make a move for her, merely nodded. She sat, her hands clasped between her knees, shoulders hunched, slightly shivering in the chill of the room.

“When Tom came in it shifted everything,” he continued. “I had kept my distance, kept you out of it, but I always wanted someone present, just in case. I wanted all contingencies covered. But he double-crossed me and sold you and I both out to Berlin,” he ground out.

“I know about all that, and I know what happened since you came back,” Liz said, still struggling for calm. “But why _not_ tell _me_?”

The subtle accusation caught him, cut him, and his almost imperceptibly flinched.

“No one knows now, except you. Not Dembe, not Kate. No one. I am telling you this, Lizzie, because I cannot continue as we are without you knowing who I am. It’s as you said, we needed to talk. When you look at me, sweetheart, I want you to see _me_. Before, I wanted you as safe as possible, and that meant keeping you out of it as much as possible. I wanted _none_ of this to touch you. And since then, having to bring it to your doorstep once again…”

He stopped, searching for the words or the strength to say them.

“I hate myself for bringing you into this, for sullying your world and what we have…but now, we are inextricably linked.”

And at his hushed words, she suddenly knew—understood with full clarity—the reason for his reluctance after they spent that night together on the barge. He guilted himself for caving in and allowing that connection. For years he had never let anyone in, let no one see, and just that once he had let her. She wondered how many other cracks she had made in his defense. Regardless, he could not build a wall against her now, as they had all come crumbling with his words now. She knew. And she reached across for his hand, took it.

“Yes, we are,” she said quietly, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “And I’m glad you told me instead of letting me live a lie. But there are more questions now than before.” Her brow furrowed and he nodded once again, knowing what was coming.

“You said my mother disappeared…”

“I think she may be alive.”

 


	6. Her own devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz tries to get her own answers.

Cht 6

 

Liz sat in her car, leaving it idling on the curb as she chewed her thumbnail. Her conversation with Cooper had gone exactly as expected. She told him what Reddington said about Katarina potentially being alive, and conveniently skipped over all knowledge of him not really _being_ Reddington. As far as she was concerned, it was a show of trust that he told her this and keeping his secret for the time being meant his trust was not misplaced. She did, however, want the unadulterated story without his censoring protection.

Which is what brought her to this impromptu stake-out. As she watched the SUV pull in and park in front of the upscale office building, she had only a moment’s hesitation before she leaped from the car and hurried over to the woman fumbling with her keys on the sidewalk. As the older lady turned to enter the building, Liz hailed her, “Dr Orchard!”

The doctor turned and as her gaze lighted on Liz, surprise turned to a slumped resignation and an understanding nod. At least, the doctor reasoned, she was not likely to wind up kidnapped again. “Agent Keen, come in. I half expected you to come back some day, only much sooner than this, I have to admit.”

Once inside, Dr Orchard escorted Liz past silk plants and a non-descript waiting room, through the darkened corridor of her practice, flipping the lights on as she went. “I have a good hour before everyone shows up, maybe half an hour before my receptionist.” As they entered her corner office, Dr Orchard settled in behind her desk after gesturing Liz to a chair across from her. “What questions do you have?”

“It’s less of a question and more of a request,” Liz replied, confirming the doctor’s already dark suspicions. “You know my issues with my memory and you have proven yourself trustworthy in the past. I know that what you did for me, you did under duress, but we need more information from my memories, and we now have reason to believe that what I may have in there could relate to our case with Raymond Reddington.”

Again, skirting the issue of who he really was, Liz apprised Dr Orchard of what he said about her mother. The older woman nodded wearily, her face visibly blanching so that her freckles stood in stark contrast against the waxy paleness when Liz suggested that she come in to the Post Office.

“We need to get you read-on there, as an asset, but more importantly as a witness as well. This is a classified case, with extremely sensitive information. My mother was a KGB spy, who we have been able to tentatively link to the cabal. She is the one who had access to the fulcrum, which was released to the public not long ago.”

Again, Dr Orchard nodded. She had seen the reports.

“Because you are a civilian, we do have to ask. I want you to understand, that we cannot force you to do this, but it would greatly help our case…and me.”

The woman’s eyes were rife with sympathy, although still hesitant. “What about my son?”

“We will see to it that you and Max both are placed in protective custody. Beyond that, honestly, Reddington will probably add his own layer of protection,” Liz nodded ruefully, but she felt that Dr Orchard needed to be prepared for the patented Reddington level of meddling.

Surprisingly, this turned her reluctance. She nodded more strongly now, “I honestly would feel better knowing that he is in charge of our well-being.”

This shocked a laugh out of the younger woman. “Why is that?”

“I remember how he was with you, while you were under last time. He did not strike me the way he’s been painted by the press. I trust him. And you.”

Liz nodded silently, a little chagrined at the fact this woman knew instinctively what Liz herself had taken so long to come to terms with: he really was a good man.

 

 

* * *

 

They decided on the infirmary of the Post Office for the staging of this next phase. Despite Reddington’s extreme reluctance at this turn of events, he understood Liz’s need and wanted to be there for every step. They decided however that if anything about his true identity came out in the proceedings he would need to be ready to pull up stakes at a moment’s notice, so he should stay away and wait for her to contact him. They agreed he would keep the house and fortifications in place for her, but that he would retreat with Dembe if needed until he could make contact again. Liz hoped that it would not be necessary, but as always he insisted on having every contingency covered.

Dr Orchard sat in a straight-backed chair next to Liz who crinkled the paper as she settled onto the exam table, in what was almost an eerie re-creation of her earlier ordeal with memory retrieval. This time however a nurse sat in attendance, with her team beside her or watching on the monitors as an analyst dictated the proceedings to be transferred into reports. As the nurse affixed electrodes to help monitor Liz’s brain activity and a sensor for her heartrate, Dr Orchard spoke to the onlookers.

“We’ll need absolute quiet, no stray noises or talking in the background, which could pull her out. We cannot risk any interruptions jarring her out of her hypnotic state. Therefore, any comments, questions or concerns should be written down for review in the debriefing. Now Elizabeth, if you’re ready?”

She aimed the last question at her subject, who nodded resolutely. “Ready.”

Cooper stood with arms crossed, brow furrowed. He remembered all too well what she had looked like after the ordeal with Braxton.

“Buckle up, Keen,” Ressler said reassuringly, “this should go way better than last time.”

Samar sat on a stool at the foot of Liz’s exam table, just behind the nurse. “Better you than me right now.” She knew there were any number of memories she could live her entire life without having to recall, and she truly felt for the younger agent.

Aram was off to the side adjusting the camera he had perched on a tripod. Although the analyst would be dictating the proceedings, they would have a film copy as well for backup.

Liz settled back and Dr Orchard talked her back through her memories, starting with deep breathing exercises to get her to relax. She began to draw Liz back to memories, first her memory of her sixteenth birthday, then a memory from when she was 8 years old, and finally a memory from when she was four.

“I want you to pull your consciousness back,” Dr Orchard stressed softly, “pull yourself back to an observant position, where you can watch things objectively as they unfold. Now tell me what you see.”

Liz’s face suffused with happiness, retold the story of the Christmas tree farm. In this one, she was running and laughing, playing hide and go seek, the innocuous memory that she tried to use before as a shield from the more painful one. Liz’s features crinkled into a smile as she held back laughter.

“Tell us what you see happening,” Dr Orchard urged, trying to keep from coloring her response by suggesting anything.

_I’m running across the aisles instead of up and down them, trying to sneak through between the trees since I’m small enough._

Liz laughed.

_I see Ben! Ben came around a corner and caught me sneaking away before Daddy came up the aisle._

“Who’s Ben?”

_He’s Daddy’s friend. I think they work together. He comes to visit sometimes and he’s always so serious with Daddy, until he sees me and then he tells me a funny story. I think they’re both worrying about what my mom is doing._

“What is she doing?”

_It seems like nothing to me…we have puzzles and games that we do. She teaches me things that she has me recite later. She says no one else can love me, only she can. And she says I am going to grow up to be just like her. I don’t think she likes Daddy. And Daddy doesn’t like any of the things that I told him about what we do or what she says. Ben doesn’t either._

“Why do you say that?”

_Mama says Daddy is a bad man who hurts people, and he might come after me. Then he came after me, but he was very nice, and Ben was very nice, just like Katya. She says they will never love me as much as she does, and they don’t understand us. But Katya says I am loved. Daddy says he loves me and I feel very conflicted by this._

Her adult mind had started assessing, objectively cataloguing what different adults said to her at different times and how she processed that at the time through her child brain.

“What else?”

_I don’t think my mom is a good person. I don’t think she is a nice person. I think she might be fake nice. I don’t know if Dad is or not, but Mom scares me sometimes._

“Why do you say that?”

 

Liz began to whisper as she began to show signs of distress. Her heart monitor beeped as her pulse spiked. Dr Orchard spoke lowly, urging her to remove herself from the first person memory and merely observe.

 _Because she hurt someone. There was a man in our kitchen, when I was_ little _little. Katya slid the knife to her. They didn’t see me on the kitchen stairs. I had snuck down from my room when I heard the banging. Mom cut him._

Liz’s finger rose and traced across her throat, mimicking a knife slicing through the man’s throat.

“Who was the man?”

_I don’t know. Katya said she would clean the mess and she told Mama to shower. I snuck up the stairs before she found me. This reminds me of Daddy…_

“What reminds you of Daddy?”

Liz scrunched up on the exam table, nearly in the fetal position. Her breathing quickened and the monitor blipped faster to register her distress. “Pull back Liz, you are Elizabeth Keen now and an adult. Nothing from your memory can harm you. Pull back and observe…tell me what you see.”

_He and Mama are fighting. They are fighting about me. He says the fulcrum is keeping him alive, and he won’t give it up. She said they will frame me._

“Frame you for what?”

_Mama told me to take it while she was busy with Mr Fitch._

“What did you take?”

_The fulcrum. They will know it was me because no one was watching me. Mama was there, Mr Fitch was there, and I think Daddy figured out I had it. He said it would keep us all safe from the real bad men, so I showed it to Daddy. He said Bunny would hide it and I had to keep it safe, because it keeps us alive. They won’t kill us if they don’t know how to get it. Mama said they would kill her, and he had to give it back. Daddy wants us to come with him and get away. I think the other people are more bad than Dad and Mama. Mr Fitch is one of the real bad ones. They are coming and coming quick, but the house is on fire and Ben is telling Daddy we need to run and get me out. Mom and Dad are fighting and the gun dropped. It slid over to me and Mama told me…_

The pulse spike sent the heart monitor beeping frantically as Liz began thrashing. It took minutes for Dr Orchard to calm her enough to register her suggestions. “What did your mother tell you?”

 _She said, ‘do it Masha! Do it before he hurts Mama. He doesn’t love you like I do. Don’t let him take me away from you.’ And I did it. I shot him to save her. Because she told me to. I didn’t want to though, because that’s my daddy and I_ do _think he loved me._

Tears streamed down Liz’s face. The beeping was quicker, but not frantic as before. Liz breathed in gasping sobs, and Dr Orchard sat silent as she allowed Liz to work through the realization of why she shot her father.

_That’s why the mess reminds me of him. That’s why my earlier memory made me feel like my mother was bad. She killed someone, and she urged me to do it too. My own father._

As Liz calmed down, Dr Orchard began walking her through visualizations to return her to consciousness and become aware of the present. The heart monitor had slowed to a steady pace as her pulse returned to normal. When at last Liz opened her eyes, she swiped at them with the tissue Samar offered and sighed deeply.

“I remember now. I remember Katya—Kate, _Kate Kaplan_ —telling Mama she had cleaned the mess, just like the man in our kitchen. She said she buried him at a farm before the authorities could test the remains. I remember their conversations now, things they said that went over my head. The puzzles my mother set for me. They were codes. The things she wanted me to remember, things she had me recite—they were secrets. Things I remember reading in the fulcrum, but more fleshed out, more detailed. She wasn’t just secret keeper for the KGB; I think she was secret keeper for the cabal, or at least being groomed for it.”


	7. They wouldn't, would they?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper throws poor Ressler a bone

Cht 7

 

Elizabeth was in a quandary. She was drained, upset, her cheeks still stained from the tears she cried during her hypnosis session, but she wanted more than anything to speak to Kate. Yet as she rode away from the Post Office with Baz at the wheel, she decided it could wait at least a day. Right now the only thing she wanted more than speaking to Kate was a nice warm bath and Red. She needed desperately to see him, touch him and reinforce that they had come through the fire intact. For in her memories she could now fully recall the sight of him as her mother led her away. There were two bodies left slumped on the floor that night. Red, who was crawling even as she and Katarina ran, and her father who lay still, his life already seeped out of him onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Ressler stepped quietly into Cooper’s office and shut the door softly behind him. Cooper looked up from his work and waited patiently for Ressler to come to terms with what he wanted to say.

“You look like you better sit,” Cooper urged, gesturing to a chair. “What’s wrong? I expected this type of behavior from Agent Keen after her ordeal, but not from you.”

“Sir, have you given much thought to the men Keen was talking about in her memories?” he asked vaguely. His brow, though furrowed only added to the contortion of disgust that twisted his mouth into a grimace.

“I have,” he said blinking, “strangely enough, I may know more about it than you.”

“Sir,” Ressler ground out haltingly, “I worked for years on the Reddington case, and I knew all the names associated with his background.”

“Yes,” Cooper said stiffly, his instincts telling him just what conclusion Ressler had come to that left him worrying for his partner.

“Ben Burchfield was the name of Reddington’s partner, a novice even fresher out of the Academy than Reddington. He graduated a semester behind Raymond Reddington, and reports indicate that not long after he joined Reddington in Russia, he began to suspect that his partner had been turned. If Burchfield is the Ben who Keen was referring to, that likely means that Reddington is her father…”

Cooper smiled grimly, “and now you’re worried that Reddington has somehow taken his own daughter into some kind of incestuous honey trap…?”

Cooper trailed off as Ressler sat back in the chair, shifting uncomfortably even as his burgeoning suspicions were voiced aloud.

“Let me put your mind at rest.” Cooper grabbed the stack of papers that he had been reading over, and tossed them into Ressler’s lap, not too gently, then waited as the young agent shuffled through them.

“These are Reddington’s prints and medical paperwork.”

“You also recall from your atmospheric information on Reddington’s background that his partner died under suspicious circumstances in Russia, and that his family was found brutally murdered not long after?”

A slow dawning crept over Ressler’s features and he went shuffling back through the papers again. “This booking form from Annapolis PD…where Burchfield and some friends stole Bill the goat… what is this? And why is it in here? To prove Burchfield had criminal tendencies too? Shenanigans with the school mascot would hardly make it a criminal mischief charge—“

“Look at the prints again.”

Ressler did as asked, and compared them to Burchfield’s Naval records. “These are different…” then to Reddington’s. “They match Reddington’s??”

“I got both Reddington’s and Burchfield’s records from the Academy when I realized that Burchfield is one of the aliases he uses. I wondered if it wasn’t a nod to his long forgotten partner, but really I think it may be—“

“Him trying to retain some sense of himself,” Ressler finished as he realized the full import of the situation. “Reddington is Keen’s father, the man she shot the night of the fire.”

“I believe Burchfield escaped that night, stepped into Reddington’s shoes, and secured the orphan of two spies who he knew had access to fulcrum. That’s why he didn’t know where it was.”

Ressler nodded, “Keen even said her father hid it with the bunny. Redd—that is, Burchfield wouldn’t have known that.”

“Now you’re seeing what I’ve been thinking. Burchfield knew they were burned, but knew that Reddington was already building clout within the criminal underworld. He knew Elizabeth had access to the fulcrum, and Katarina Rostova was on the run. So he built himself up as Reddington, buying himself leverage on the outside as a criminal where he couldn’t on the inside as an agent.”

“The master strategist at work,” Ressler said with grudging admiration. “So what is his endgame?”

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. We know he has it out for the cabal, but I have wondered lately if Katarina Rostova is still in the wind. There’s no proof of death.”

“For that matter,” said Ressler, “if things went sideways and the cabal found out Burchfield knew too much, that may be why his family was killed.”

“Maybe it’s time we started investigating into Benjamin Burchfield,” Cooper nodded.

“I’ll talk to Aram and see what leads he can dig up there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Liz sank back into the huge tub and groaned aloud. She had come home only to find that Red—she thought it better to use his nickname in light of the day’s revelations—was nowhere to be found. So she took her time heading up the stairs, wanting to strip off everything as she went and wrap herself in her fluffy robe while she waited for the tub to fill. She hesitated though, as she was unsure of exact what means he had used to secure the place. Likely as not, there were cameras installed somewhere, and she had no desire for a repeat of the Apple man and his colleagues’ surveillance of her most private moments. The lingering thought made her shudder and firmly close and lock the bathroom door. Surely, there was no need for cameras here. Red valued his privacy just as much as hers.

Twenty minutes or so into her bath, just when she was wondering if she should refill the tub with warmer water, a soft tap on the door decided her on emptying it out.

“Elizabeth?” Red said tentatively.

“I’m coming,” she called as she popped the stopper out and reached for her robe.

She found him seated on the edge of the bed, watching the door as she padded through it, damp tendrils of hair framing her face. He widened his legs as she stepped between them and smiled slowly, wanting to know what else she had uncovered today but not really wanting to ask.

“Well…?” he said expectantly as she linked her arms around his waist and breathed in his scent at the curve of his neck.

“Well…I think as much as I want to call you by your real name, and as much as I don’t want to call you by my father’s,” she shuddered slightly, “ever again…I think I’d better just stick to Red.”

She nuzzled his jawline even as he chuckled darkly. “Understood. I take it the regression went well.”

“Dr Orchard thinks that shooting Tom Connolly undid the block you had placed so that I could retrieve the memories easier. Somehow, me performing the same action as I did then sort of jogged things loose. The suggestions went much easier this time, even without drugs.”

“You were okay? And the baby?” he asked sharply.

“Both of us were fine,” she said reassuringly, tugging her fingers at vee of his vest and sliding the top button through its slot. She smiled smugly as she saw his jaw go slack in recognition. “There are no…cameras in here, are there?”

Red smiled knowingly and slipped a hand inside her robe. “No.”


	8. Confirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconnecting with Red

**a/n: I realized it's been since MARCH since I added anything to this, so apologies for being remiss. Not only did rl intervene, but I also chased down a plot bunny taking me to Ultron territory. This may be short, but it's lovely and sweet, and hopefully makes up for it.**

 

Cht 8 Confirmation  
  


She felt him reach into her robe and leaned into his touch. Red palmed her breast under the fabric, his eyes never leaving hers. Lizzie however dropped her gaze to his mouth and cocked her head to the side, smiling. Tracing her hands over his strong thighs, she brushed her lips over his on a sigh. His other hand snaked around and squeezed, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer between his legs as he deepened the kiss.

She knew that he needed this, needed her touch as a reaffirmation that she still felt the same despite everything she had learned. Lizzie brought her hands to the sash of her robe, unlacing it and easing it off of her shoulders to drop to the floor. Red's hungry gaze swept over her, the corners of his mouth quirking up at the swell of her belly and the life that grew there. He slid his hands over her curves, her widening hips, and leaned down to place a kiss over the rounded bump. Cupping both hands around her rump now, he lifted her to his lap. Instinctively she draped her legs around his hips.

Lizzie took advantage of the angle to grind against him, eliciting a groan from deep within him as he bucked once in answer to her demands. Taking his mouth with hers, Liz's tongue began an insistent exploration of his mouth while her hands rubbed over his chest, unbuttoning as they went. It was all Red could do to hold on to her and not lose control. He lifted her again, settling her sideways across the bed before he stood and finished the job she had started on his shirt.

"Hey! I was going to do that," she protested, climbing onto her hands and knees to watch him stripping for her. The sight of her in that pose made him harder, the pressing strain of his turgid member more insistent to be released. He stroked himself through his trousers almost thoughtfully as he toed off his shoes, his eyes never leaving hers. Red unfastened the button, unzipped, and pulled himself through the gap in his boxers, a tad bit of precum already glistening on his tip. Liz, understanding, leaned forward and lapped at it, earning a hiss from Red as he pressed the head of his penis into her mouth.

Still on hands and knees, Lizzie opened her mouth more fully and placed one hand under him, pulsing a bit at the taint while her moist little lips enveloped him. Red gritted his teeth and braced a hand over the back of her head as he felt her throat relax, taking him in up to the base. Pulling out even as she rocked back a bit, he groaned her name aloud and had her oozing at the sound of him coming undone for her. Knowing he couldn't take much more of her, for it had been far too long since he had had her last, Red eased her back and pushed her shoulder to get her to settle once again. He grabbed her thighs, pulling her hips to the edge of the mattress and pushed her legs back until she was splayed fully in front of his face. He could smell her arousal and feel the warmth of her hot inner core. To answer that need, as she mewled her frustration above him, he traced his tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping a bit at the curve of her hip.

"Ugh!" she bucked, "come _on_!" she urged.

Red chuckled, all too amused with his teasing.

"Aren't you impatient," he chided. And then leaned forward and sucked hard against her clit. Liz almost came up of the bed, her hands grasping for him as he slid two fingers into her and started lapping against her sensitive nub. Sliding his digits across the top of her silky depths, he stroked back and forth over the little walnut-sized spot—the holy grail of female sexual gratification that he had spoken of years ago. As he flicked his tongue over the apex of her, she felt that pressure build deep inside, and the last coherent thought before her world blasted with light and feeling, pain and pleasure melding, was that he certainly knew what he was doing. And the g-spot apparently was _not_ a myth. He seemed to find it unerringly every time, and he was probably going to kill her with orgasms.

Red slid over the top of her even as she came down to earth in a gratified haze. She felt his thickness press against her inner walls, sliding into her slowly. And she smiled up at his face, full of wonder at not only merely being able to touch her, but to couple with her and bond himself to her. He took her in slow, lazy strokes, spinning them both up once again until he buried his head in the crook of her neck, nestling his nose against her hair, and spilling himself into her as he lost himself amidst the soft flesh and floral feminine scent of her. _His_ , he breathed, she was all his despite everything.


	9. Much-needed Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: After all the fiasco of the 4B arc, this chapter is going to be one very abrupt departure. There are parallels, but I neither wanted Kate to be that gullible, nor that obtuse as to what was going on. She was a strong character, and I don't think that 3B-4B really did her any justice. That is my only caveat here.

  
  


Cht 9

 

Red was sleeping soundly when she left, even lightly snoring, which she would remember to tease him about later. She traipsed across the street, not quite waddling—not yet anyway—and headed over to the safehouse where Kate had set up residence. Liz did not want confirmation. She knew in her gut that everything she saw in her memories had already been confirmed by Red. What she wanted was another perspective and more info, as the trickle of memories was not enough to satiate her mind.

Kate looked unsurprised as she opened the door to the younger woman, and after the briefest moment of hesitation at the threshold, she gave Liz a resigned nod and ushered her inside.

"I don't know how Mr Reddington would feel about you being here, practically under his nose, but come on in, dearie," she rasped.

Dressed probably in the most casual clothes Liz had ever seen her wearing, Kate led the way down the wainscoted hall into a light, airy kitchen. Her crisp linen trousers were complimented by a light sweater set, and she seemed quite at home among the marble countertops and deep cherry wood cabinetry. Kate poured two cups of French pressed coffee and gestured that they have a seat in the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard. She gave a nod through the window to a man looking in from the house next door. He returned the nod and then made his way back inside the house.

"That's Curtis," Kate said, glancing at Liz's questioning look. "He's Reddington's chief source of transportation. Puts him in connection with all the chop shops. He's the one who got us those SUVs."

"Is this whole block nothing but Red's people?" Liz asked, vaguely impressed by the idea.

"Not the entire thing, but there are several key logistical locations that we're using. Curtis and I over here. Baz in the row behind your house. Dembe is right next door to the left if you're looking at your front door. He'll be moving Isabella and Elle in for safekeeping as well, since we have a fortified stronghold here."

Liz sipped her coffee thoughtfully and reasoned that of all places, with all of this in place and knowing he had more measures she was yet unaware of, she felt the safest she ever had in her life since the fateful day he surrendered at the FBI building. Perhaps even safer than she had with Sam. Smiling slightly into her mug, Liz looked back at Kate almost wistfully.

"I can't thank you guy enough for doing this—" she began.

"Dearie, I told you when we met up years ago that I had two objectives: your protection and finding my employer. That still stands. I cannot count the number of times I have had to track down Reddington, but your protection too has always been paramount."

"Can I ask—" Liz began, perplexed, "—I mean you must know by now that…"

She trailed off, not wanting to betray Red's confidence, but feeling that surely she must have questioned the parentage of Liz's child by now.

Kate gave her a shrewd, hard look and braced a hand over Liz's arm. "When I first met Reddington so many years ago, face to face for the first time, I think I had some reservations even then that he was not who he told me he was. But he was adamant about your safety and so was I. So I let it slide. When your mother disappeared however, she left in my possession proof of his false identity."

"What?" Liz's jaw went slack.

Kate fidgeted a bit with the single line of pearls around her neck. _In for a penny_ , she surmised, and finally gave in and sighed. "If Reddington—or whomever he is—held his true identity back from me, then I held something back from him as well. Call it leverage for each of us. Him never admitting who he really was, and me never admitting that I knew better. But suffice it to say that after your mother brought you back to me after the fire and told us to run, she took your suitcase."

At this, Kate's throat tightened and the tears swam. She cleared her throat and continued on. "When Reddington finally tracked her down to Cape May, he brought back the suitcase to have me dispose of it. In it were a man's remains, charred in some places as though he had been in a fire when he died. So I kept it for a while, held it because I was curious. When your mother spoke of the men in her life around that time, she made three different references. A blond, an American—who may well have been one in the same—and Raymond Reddington. At the time I fully believed all three were the same. And she very carefully couched her words so that it was impossible to tell who was who or if there was a third or even fourth party… so after the fire and her disappearance I did a paternity test."

Liz sat mute, her coffee gone cold.

"It was your father, Lizzie. However it happened, I remember her telling you that night that it was alright. That he was a bad man."

"I shot him," Liz offered.

Kate nodded, tearing up again. "I wish all of this had stayed buried as Reddington wished. I did bury the suitcase, on a farm. It was a special place for someone I held very dear. She was born there and…"

Kate trailed off, shaking her head. It was not relevant, and she wanted to stick to the importance of Liz's background and not her own. Those were other painful memories for another time.

"I knew at that point that the remains must have been Raymond Reddington, and it confirmed that if Red was involved, he must have been the third party—the American that Katarina referenced. I realized also at that point that they both had played me, for very different reasons. Reddington, because he needed the cover and the clout that the criminal identity afforded him, and your mother because she had plans for you that required you to never know who your father was. She wanted to be the only influence in your life, so as to inform your behavior and ensure that only she held your trust. It never sat right with me, and for that reason, though I knew better, I kept Reddington's secret and always kept an eye out for your mother."

Liz swiped at her face, realizing for the first time that tears were trickling down.

"She was not a good person, was she? My mother?"

Kate raised her hands over the table in a placating gesture.

"Dearie, all I know is that she played everyone around her. Everyone. Even me. I served as nanny or governess for many families before getting roped into this world, and none of them ever forbade me from loving their child. But she did."

With that truth out, the one that had burned in her for so long, Kate placed a shaky hand over her mouth and breathed.

Unconsciously, Liz placed a furtive hand over her swollen belly. She could not imagine anyone not loving a child, or ever as a mother forbidding someone from loving hers.

"That unsettled me," Kate continued after a deep and shaking breath, "and over the years therafter, I think I moved into a sort of survival mode, afraid to tip your mother off to my fears and very wary of rocking the boat. I knew what kind of world she was in and how dangerous it was for me to try to out her. And possibly more dangerous for you. If you were taken from her, it would mean you would be taken from me as well. And wherever you wound up, I or anyone else may not be able to protect you. That is why when Reddington came along, I placed my trust in him. First by thinking that he was your father and that he would see to your care as your mother did not, and second when I knew he was someone else and your parents were either missing or dead, because he had done his best to secure you and keep your horrible memories at bay."

Kate sniffed loudly and blotted her eyes and nose with a napkin, before crinkling it in her hand and looking out the window for a long moment.

"When we first met again, for what I knew you thought was the first time, it hurt not being able to tell you. But I did feel, as Reddington did, that the less you knew and recalled, the safer and more sound you would be. It's a horrible mess, and I'm sorry—"

"No," Liz cut in, reaching across the table for the older woman's hand. "It's not for you to be sorry, and it's not Reddington's either. You both tried."

She sniffled.

"Knowing that I'm going to be a mother now," Liz shook her head, "I can't imagine half the things they did with me, that I saw, that they brought into my life…I would never do that to my baby. So thank you, both of you, for keeping me safe. And for taking me to Sam. He was the best dad I could have had under any circumstances, but especially with this…he was a miracle."

Kate squeezed her hand.

"It was a wrench, I'll admit, handing you over to him. He did do right by you though. Reddington was right."


	10. Ressler on the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite gumshoe checks in

Cht 10

Liz looked up at a knock on the office door. It had been a few days since her conversation with Kate and though things were on an even keel at home with Red—and she loved how that sounded even in her head—things were stilted at work. So when she looked up to find Ressler hovering in the doorway, she beckoned him in and urged him to sit.

"Something on your mind," she hedged, already feeling that she did not want to be part of the conversation that was about to ensue.

"Yeah," Ressler snorted softly, "lots. But let's start with this, Keen. Are you sure you really want to be doing all this?"

She stopped mindlessly shuffling at the papers on her desk and spared a quiet look at Ressler.

"I mean, I know you want answers. I get that, I really do. But I also saw how you looked coming out of that regression last time. You were pale, weak. You looked…" he gestured frustrated, looking for better words, but none came, "…broken. Keen, you looked like it leveled you."

Liz sat back in her chair and gave Ressler an appraising look.

"What?" Ressler looked at her perplexed.

"Nothing," Liz smiled quietly. "It's just…you've come a long way from 'I'm watching you, Keen!' I never thought I'd see the day when you seemed concerned for my welfare."

Ressler spared her a smug grin and sat back himself, mirroring her. "Well, I mean, you're not the best partner I've ever had. But you're hardly the worst."

Liz laughed, rewarding him with a smile. "Well now that's a relief. Who was the worst then?"

"Besides Jonica?" he questioned pointedly. Liz looked chagrined before Ressler finally cracked a smile. "I do have one who, as I understand it, is still working his way through the 12 Steps after our task force was disbanded from tracking Reddington for five years."

Liz laughed again. "I could see him having that effect on someone."

"But seriously," Ressler jutted his chin, his brow furrowed. "How is he treating you now? Okay? I mean. You two were like cats and dogs most of the time."

"Well, he's not throwing me over furniture, so that's a plus."

"No Tommy Lee treatment, that's good."

Liz gave a short, mirthless laugh and nodded grudgingly. "Yeah. So the bar's pretty low, but he's raising it. Last night he—"

"Whoa!" Ressler shifted in his seat, holding up a hand. "If you're going to start sharing that stuff, maybe try Aram."

Liz snorted. "I was just going to say he massaged my feet and made me dinner."

Ressler squinted a bit, trying to picture it, and found it was actually easy to do. He could see Reddington, sleeves rolled back, waxing poetic about some little trattoria in Italy while he made pasta primavera. Stretching out on the sofa with Liz after and rubbing her feet while she stretched her legs over his lap. Come to think of it, he could imagine Reddington—or whoever he was—being downright domestic in the right circumstances. He just hoped for Liz's sake it lasted. Kid hadn't had enough breaks in her life, and it was about time.

"So back to my original question then: are you sure you want to continue with the regressions?"

"Yes," she said adamantly.

Ressler leaned up, bracing his arms over his knees and clasping his hands. "Why?" He shrugged, "you've got this new life, things are going great, we're catching bad guys. Why not let the past stay buried?"

"Because I felt like," she answered haltingly, "some of the flashes I saw could help. Not just with answers about my past, and yes, on a level I still want them and want some closure. But some of the things I saw, like I said, flashes of things then, they pertained directly to the work we're doing, and I think it could help. I told you once that Red showed me a world map with all the 'heads of the hydra' as he put it. I saw the same in my memories. I think my mother was already training me, and…" she lowered her voice as it faltered, "…I think she may have been helping the cabal somehow. I feel like she was an agent of theirs. And I want to know how she went from working for them or with them to stealing the fulcrum and going on the run."

"Okay," Ressler said slowly, then more strongly, "okay. Let's do it then. Set up another regression. We'll still be there. And I'll see if we can generate some reports out of your memories and maybe try to confirm what info you're getting, see if we can chop off some of those heads."

With that he rose, and left Liz thinking. He worried about her, and she was sure the others did as well. Ressler was right. She had been through a lot, but so had they all. So it was together they would be, as a team. She would not go though this alone. She had her co-workers, friends, she corrected. And she had Red at home.  
  


* * *

  
Ressler stalked through the halls after his talk with Keen, shrugging at the thought that he had held a little information back there. He wondered if she already knew anyway. The kid was Red's, he reasoned, or Burchfield's rather, and she should know that. Still he wondered exactly how much she knew, and whether or not he should have apprised her of the situation. He felt it was Red's—no, he corrected again—Burchfield's duty to come clean. So as he squared his shoulders before entering Cooper's office, he had very few qualms about bringing the information to his boss instead.

"You wanted to see me?" Cooper questioned as he gestured the younger agent inside.

"Yes sir," Agent Ressler confirmed. "I have more news on Burchfield."

"What is it?"

"Aram was able to find evidence of an arson case in Tacoma Park that may be connected to Ben Burchfield."

"Oh really? How?"

"The place, by all accounts, exploded," Ressler related, "witness accounts said it was a huge blast, reports from fire fighters said the flames were several feet in the air, yet because of the blast some fixtures were blown clear of the scene and arson investigators lifted a print that turned out to be a latent print from none other."

"Than Ben Burchfield." Cooper hummed low in his throat.

Ressler nodded.

"Though the insurance company eventually ruled it was due to a gas leak, arson investigators discovered that the house had been bought only a few weeks prior by a young Asian woman who paid cash."

"Luli Zheng?"

"I tried faxing a copy of a photograph, but it has been so long the realtor said she couldn't be sure. But I'm willing to bet it was."

"And if it was, why would Burchfield blow up this house?"

"My best guess: memories."

Cooper looked nonplussed.

"It was his family's home. They were found brutally murdered about a month or so before Ben Burchfield was supposed to have died in the fire that took Liz's father."

Cooper took off the glasses he'd been wearing and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, sitting back, taking a deep breath. He gazed off at the shuttered window that typically overlooked the analysts' desks on the floor below.

"I wonder," he mused, "if this whole 'blacklist' is nothing but one long quest for revenge."

"He told me once that revenge is a poison," Ressler shrugged. "Could be he learned that the hard way."


	11. Comforts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie seeks refuge in Red

Cht 11

 

Liz spent a solid three weeks going through regressions, taking downtime whenever Cooper and Red pressed her from both sides to not work herself too hard. It was draining, she reasoned, but with every answer she uncovered, she thought of more. She had found that she could focus on one point at a time on the map and remember details of the organizational structure of cabal operations. People especially, but trade routes, job functions, specializations. There were drug kingpins and arms dealers, but also politicians, religious officials, military leaders. Frankly, Liz thought sighing, it was depressing how far-reaching the cabal was, and for the first time she could understand how Red had compiled his list. She was starting to see intersections of former Blacklisters with current cabal operatives—things that in 20 plus years of criminal activity, he might have missed. She felt like now she was filling in what could have been intelligence gaps in his own research and reconnaissance. And more than anything, that is exactly what Liz believed he had been doing. Not only building resources and operations to combat theirs, but learning as much as he could about how they worked and with whom.

Over the time that she had been working with Dr Orchard, Aram, Samar, and Ressler had been filing reams of reports, asking and re-asking Liz questions about her memories, filing the reports in the great network of intelligence and counterintelligence resources to be assessed, fact-checked, and compiled by analysts all over the US and its different agencies and the world over. Suddenly the intelligence community was awash with information from an unknown source outlining what the cabal had kept secret for these many years.

She was proud, both of herself and her team. But, she thought, feeling the swishy flop against her insides, it was time for home. And family. Her eyes grew misty thinking about Red being at “home” waiting for her. Last night, when she felt those first movements in her belly, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her abdomen, watching him go silent and his eyes met hers, brimming with a swarm of emotions. He had kissed her gently, right above her brow, and held her close. She could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the lump that had risen there, and felt him stroke her back as he whispered sweet nothings about her having his baby.

As she rode home with Dembe at the wheel, he let her fall into an easy and companionable silence. He left her at the door and headed to his own place to see Isabella and Elle. It had become their custom to visit often in the evenings; at dinner, talks of business and the cabal were banished, most discussions taking place in what Red called the drawing room—a cozy little sitting room off from the foyer. But nights when Liz came home tired and drained after yet another regression therapy session, she and Red were left alone for a quiet night in all to themselves.

Tonight when she came through the door, Liz followed the subtle glow all the way back to the dining area past the stairs and just off the kitchen. She found Red waiting at the table, candles aglow on nearly every surface, and the only dish on the table was a large covered casserole dish. In deference to her, he had stopped taking alcohol at dinner and kept his scotch for discussions with Dembe and Marvin, where they pored over his own research. Instead, two waters and a teapot sat on the table with the large dish, and he had already pulled her chair out for her. Nonetheless, he rose as she approached, both by habit and out of concern. He simply laid a light hand on her upper arm and guided her to sit.

“Sweetheart, you look tired,” he said gravely. He had mentioned a time or two that he hoped it was not too much for her. All the men in her life seemed so worried, if it hadn’t felt stifling, it would be endearing.

Liz sighed deeply and returned evenly, “I’m fine, I’m just…not really hungry, but I know I need to eat.”

Hurt flickered briefly across his face, so she added quickly, “it smells _divine_ though. And I think Baby’s asking for some.”

At the mention of their baby he smiled slightly and said, “I thought you could use some comfort food, so I baked a homemade chicken pot pie.”

He said the last bit almost as a question as he lifted the lid for her to see, and Liz realized that they were still learning each other in so many ways still. Neither of them knew what the other liked. Pondering this, she leaned up and scooped a whopping spoonful into her bowl. “It looks wonderful!”

She sniffed appreciatively at the steaming creamy sauce and grudgingly admitted that her belly was starting to growl. When she first came through the door, she wanted sleep more than food, but that decision was rapidly reversing itself. She was suddenly famished.

“You know me better than I do,” she realized. It wasn’t what either of them liked, they both knew what they each _were_ like. That’s what mattered. He had the full measure of her character, and she had his. That little epiphany felt like a huge blanket draped itself over her, all warmth and comfort.

 

 

* * *

 

 

With the meal finished, Liz and Red took their usual spot on the couch, doing what had become a diverting past time for both of them. Red sat, his feet propped on an ottoman in front of him; Liz lay with her head in his lap, a tufted pillow under her head as he stroked his hand across her swollen belly. The pillow served to keep her from getting heartburn, they had learned, and they watched a few episodes of Bizarre Foods where Red would regale her with his own commentary on the location and the foods, especially if it was something he had tried. Sometimes Lizzie would fall asleep listening to his voice, and he would let her sleep, knowing how tired she must be. He would watch the rest, stroking her hair, for as long as he could before she would wake herself snoring. Then, gently nudging her toward the stairs, Red would stay behind her as she trudged up to their bed before falling face first onto it. He chuckled every time, nudging again and prodding her little rump until she got settled. Then he would unhook her bra single-handedly. Tired as she was, that never escaped her. He would slide her shoes off, and help pull the bra off her arms, before letting her pass out completely.

Tonight, as she was a little more awake, she pulled at his hands until he draped himself around her. “Hold me,” she entreated sleepily.

“Alright sweetheart, look out,” he said, nudging her closer to the middle. He toed his shoes off at the edge of the bed and slid his belt through his pants, dropping it over the side as well. Red freed himself of his watch and draped an arm over her rounded middle, pressing his lips to her hair. “I’ve booked you a pregnancy massage for tomorrow,” he murmured into her neck as he kissed her ear and neck.

“Thank you,” she sighed, linking her hand with his, and drifted off to sleep again.


	12. Coming Around Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know now EXACTLY how I want to finish this, so next weekend or so it will start winding to a close. Maybe a couple chapters more?

Cht 12

 

 

_Liz followed her 4 year-old self through the home where the fire broke out. It appeared to be an earlier time, before she shot her father, before she ran and hid from the flames in the closet again, before Ben pulled her out and got burned, before her mother ran with her... She crept along a hallway, trying to listen to her parents in the living room beyond. She could hear them talking tensely and quietly, and she kept going, closer to the doorway so she could try to ascertain what was going on._

" _They killed his family, I saw them, even the daughter," Katarina was saying. "This has gone beyond any intelligence gathering. The cabal put his wife down like a dog; she was trying to defend her daughter." Liz heard Katarina break off as her voice cracked with emotion. "We've been surveilling them—and you—for ages. Ever since we came into the States. This was not [a] KGB operation. These were men from Fitch and the others."_

_She was clearly crying now._

" _That fulcrum device is the only thing that will keep Masha and I safe. You put us in danger by not giving it to me now—"_

" _That's fine talk," Reddington cut in. "You framed Masha to get it. She's Elizabeth now. Her name is already changed. I have new ID for her, and for you too. That little thing will keep us all alive. But we have to leave tonight. I need Ben to get here. He's found your father, and he's bringing him in. You'll have to tell_ him _what they did to his family. He was supposed to be picking them up to get them away from here. I imagine he knows by now, but he'll want answers. And he'll get them from you."_

_Through the crack in the door Liz could see her mother's tearstained face. She was shaking her head in denial. "I—I did nothing! They wanted me to—to take the daughter. She could not have been more than 12, but she fought. Her mother fought. And they killed them. There was so much blood. That could well have been Masha and me. We need the fulcrum, Raymond! We need to get out, and you can't stop me. They will kill me—they will kill us if they get it."_

_Katarina broke into choking sobs, but before the conversation could escalate into the argument she had seen before, something lurched in Liz's belly, and suddenly Liz was yanked from her regressed state straight into consciousness._

Liz sat bolt upright, disoriented and panicking as the beeping monitors beside her only contributed to her confusion and fear. "It's alright, it's alright," Dr Orchard said rising. Liz caught Samar's movement to her side and nearly punched out in reflex. She pulled her fist in just in time to keep from hitting the woman as realization started to dawn on her as to where she was.

"Keen! You okay?"

Liz's gaze lit on Ressler and Cooper standing off to the side, their faces wary and concerned. She looked back at Samar, then to the doctor and nodded finally, slowly. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay." Her belly again drew her attention as she felt the small sort of rippling movements and patted a hand on top of the wee lump that she assumed was the baby's rump. "Somebody decided to cut our session short by doing gymnastics in here."

"Ah,"Dr Orchard said gravely, "I was a little concerned that something like that might happen. It can put you into shock, being drawn out of a regression that fast. As your baby grows and moves your consciousness will stay attuned to what's going on to your body, and the movements may continue to jar you out of your hypnotic state."

"So do we need to leave off from these for a while then?" Cooper questioned as he moved closer to the foot of the bed.

"That may be a good idea," Dr Orchard said, more to Liz than Cooper. "It may be putting too much stress on the baby, and it may be best to wait until after delivery. You are about halfway through your term now, and what you do now affects both of you. Perhaps more strongly than we thought."

Liz looked from her to Cooper, grim faced but resigned.

"I have been having dreams at home too," she admitted reluctantly. "Usually after a regression I will dream little bits of the memories that have come up, and sometimes they contain a little more information about our regressions. I include them in the debriefing sessions with Ressler and Samar, but it makes it really hard to sleep afterwards. I almost never go back to bed." She thought sheepishly of all the times Red sat up with her, for she never could convince him to sleep without her.

"For the sake of the baby—and for your own health—my professional opinion would be to wait until we can continue later on."

"There are plenty enough reports now that we can start to follow up on some of these leads," Ressler put in helpfully. "You've given us a load of intel already, Keen."

Samar nodded, "what I have been able to share with Mossad already, around the world, has already started to bear fruit. A lot of the connections you've made from foreign agents to criminal traffickers has panned out already, and they are organizing task forces in multiple locations to bring each one down."

"And even some of the logistical intel you've given us still holds, even though it's been years. They tend to keep the same connections on the inside, so trade routes have not changed even though it appears that what they deal in to fund their operations has."

She understood the truth of what they were saying, and realized slowly that as much as she had delved into her own psyche for answers, she may have already come up with what they all needed—even herself. Liz had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly why her mother turned away from the cabal and spy work, only to try to bolt, abandoning her with Kaplan and ultimately Sam.

Later, when Liz stepped into Cooper's office for her usual post regression debrief, she was surprised to see Ressler tagging along. He pulled up his own chair in the office and sat expectantly, as if waiting for her to start. Instead it was Cooper who broke the silence.

"Keen, in light of what happened today I think you should extend your usual leave of absence and take a few weeks," he said in a tone that brooked no refusal.

"I think you're right," she said reluctantly. The look of bewildered surprise on Cooper's face belied the fact that he did indeed expect her to refuse.

"I confess myself amazed to hear you say that."

"What I saw toward the end—what I heard—was essentially my mother's confession that she was involved in the deaths of Ben Burchfield's wife and daughter," she had to stop speaking for a moment at the lump that lodged in her throat at the thought that her mother was implicated in his family's murder.

While Liz struggled for calm, Ressler cleared his throat. "I think you may be right. Ever since we started looking into Burchfield's background, we found out some things that made us wonder what his motivations were for keeping you around and tackling the cabal. He said early on that he needed you for answers, and we wanted to know what the questions were."

"What you mean," she whispered hoarsely, "what have you found out?"

"His family was murdered in their home, barely a week before the fire that killed your father was reported. This same house was later destroyed by arson three years ago after an Asian woman mysteriously showed up and offered more than its pending contract. She paid cash."

Liz looked at Ressler for a fulminating moment. Luli Zheng. It had to have been.

"He destroyed the house, and tried to destroy the memories."

"I think so. Before Mako Tanida—before Jonica double crossed me and nearly killed me—Red told me revenge is a poison. I think he learned that firsthand."

"Do you think he knows?"

"That Katarina did it? I don't know. He said she killed herself, didn't he? You don't think he would—"

"No—no! I don't. Even in his grief I don't think he would hurt her. He rescued me and took me to Sam, and in doing that he honored her wishes. Kaplan still seems to think she's dead. Red said he's not so sure anymore."

"Keen…" Ressler began slowly, not wanting to voice his concern, but feeling that it needed to be said, "don't you think that if she was alive and wanted to protect you from all this…she would have come forward by now?"

Liz worried her lip speculatively. He did have a point, much as she was loathe to admit it.

But Cooper cut in, "I feel like if there was a way to find her, no matter what happened, it still is in there somewhere," he replied, pointing at Liz's head. "As much as she sounds like she was grooming you, I feel there would have been a contingency plan she would have set up. It's something any intel professional would do, and this woman was legend. It may be that we just haven't drudged it up yet."

"Maybe," Liz replied slowly, her mind tracking over every possibility, every argument and counterargument as to whether or not her mother might still be alive. "I may be the one person who would know best, but I don't know how to access that kind of information at will."

"Keen," Cooper clipped, "you have time now, take however much you need. And just let it come."


	13. Things Come to Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises in store...

Cht 13

 

Elizabeth Keen’s life had had its fill of surprises and upsets. She had run headlong into danger, charged at it; sometimes in her teen years, she even savored it. There were moments in her life where she sat on the proverbial pins and needles, drenched in anticipation or jangling with nerves. Prom night, graduations, her first arrest as an agent, her first kill in the line of duty, many things. But not one of those surpassed what she was going through now. As she sat in the back of the sleek Mercedes, Baz at the wheel today, as Dembe was with Red at the safehouse, she chewed her lip, clasped her hands over her knee and worried how to tell Red the news she was practically vibrating with.

Baz pulled into the drive, hopping out and surveying the scene with a skilled eye. By the time he skirted the vehicle to catch the door, she had already popped it open and was trying unsuccessfully to leverage herself out of the seat. Liz offered a heartfelt thank you when he proffered a hand and levered her out of the back, but she couldn’t avoid his worried gaze still.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Elizabeth?” he questioned gingerly.

Liz took a deep breath, placed a hand on the small of her aching back, and smiled tensely. “It wasn’t a really unpleasant surprise today, but cross your fingers Red doesn’t have a stroke when I tell him soon.”

Baz nodded, not quite understanding, but knowing that it was best kept between she and Red for the time being. If it was anything he needed to know, he would be told eventually.

Liz let herself be ushered inside, following Baz down the hall, knowing that he was casing the house in case of invaders—essentially handing her off to Red before he called the job done and left. She followed Baz into the study where Red sat hunched over a map of Asia while Dembe spoke rapid fire Mandarin to someone on the phone. Red looked up smiling, all the tension ebbing out of his face as he rose to kiss her and help her settle into a seat. He spoke quietly and briefly to Baz, who then left, and Dembe moved off toward a window, taking a moment to peek out, never breaking what appeared to be a very tense exchange. He wrapped up the call though, snapping the phone shut and looked over at Red.

“They said they are doing everything they can on their end, but it will cost an extra twenty percent on delivery.”

“Absolutely not,” Red clipped tersely, his gaze narrowing. “They’ll get the agreed upon price or—“

“I told them as much,” Dembe interjected, raising a placating hand. “I reminded them of the fiasco delivering to Taiwan, and how it would look if they not only cannot deliver effectively and efficiently, and start to price gouge on top of it. Lei Pang is not who his father was, and everyone knows it. He has not the honor his old man had. Bringing up his father and honor was what he needed to hear. He reneged, and will deliver next week with the original agreement intact. Still fifteen percent.”

Red’s mouth quirked into a satisfied smile, punctuated with a nod. “Good, that’s good.”

“Well Lizzie,” he said, turning back to her, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sweetheart. Duty called. How did your checkup go?”

Now or never, just blurt it out, she reasoned. Then her chest seized up. She stalled, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on for his now wary gaze. “Well…”

Red, assuming he’d better sit down for whatever this was, shared a concerned glance over her head at Dembe, who started to beg off and leave them to discuss the matter privately. “I should go,” he hedged, as Red dropped a hip onto the edge of the desk and looked back to Lizzie in the wingback chair in front of him.

“Oh no!” Lizzie urged, “it’s okay, it’s just…well. Let me start over.” She took another deep breath to settle herself, still feeling like she was vibrating, then let it all out in a rush. “Dr Pandey said everything’s fine, first of all. Everything’s developing as it should be, sonogram looked great,” she mentally ticked off, “and then she noticed something sort of nudging around the placental sac.”

She looked from one man to the other with a glazed, hopeful expression. “There’s another one.”

“Another what,” Red said dumbly.

Dembe dropped his crossed arms as the implication struck. “Twins?” he ventured.

Red stared, the proverbial deer facing down an oncoming semi. His throat went dry. Liz simply nodded, not quite trusting her voice at first. She started to speak again, coughed, breathed deep, and plowed on, “she noticed the edge of the other placental wall first. But,” she patted her belly, “it’s been a really active day and I guess everybody wanted their face time. So the next thing we knew there was a hand poking around almost trying to push the other one out of the way,” she laughed nervously, still shell-shocked from the news. “They were both pretty squirmy, and eventually they moved around enough we could see the other one. The doctor even made a little video file of it, so you can see.”

Dembe laughed and clapped Red on the back. “Brother, you about to have your hands full,” he smiled.

Red chuckled nervously, shaking his head. “Wow Lizzie, my cup, it seems, runneth over.” He reached down and pulled her in for a crushing hug, leaning over the burgeoning belly and peppering her hair with kisses, then hugged and kissed Dembe for good measure.

“Dembe, I think this calls for a Cuban!” he said, reaching for the humidor.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Red’s eyes popped open as Lizzie began to thrash in her sleep. Her eyes tracked rapidly side to side as the dream took her into its depths.

_She was running along a boardwalk, and could hear her mother calling._

_“Masha,” she echoed from behind 4 year-old Lizzie. “Masha, wait for Mama!”_

_Liz heard herself giggle, a child’s bubbling glee, effervescing at the thought of sand and surf. “Mama, hurry and catch up!” she called back. Cape May, she thought in her adult mind. She remembered the name. There was an old lady and man who lived at the inn here; they had retired from teaching to open an inn for the summers, she heard them tell her mother. Katarina had brought her before, vacationing here whenever her Papa Rostov was out of town. They had even met Daddy and Ben here once. But this place had a somewhere special. There was a special place that Katarina told Liz only they girls knew._

_“Masha! Masha…” Katarina called, as though from far away. “Not there, not the beach, sweetheart. You know where we go. You know where to go.” She could just picture it, over the rise of the dunes, toward the back of the inn and just off to the side past the cabana and Jack’s shed._

Liz sat bolt upright, “Mama!” She heaved a breath and felt Red place a tentative hand on her back.

“Lizzie?”

“It was just a dream, Red,” she assured him. “I remembered something new.”

She slid out of bed gingerly, stepping through the darkened room toward the bathroom. “Somewhere I think we may need to go. Hold that thought though—some little body is leaning on my bladder,” she said wearily.

Her body was cold with dread by the time she slipped into bed next to Red again, and she scooted close up to his warmth, taking comfort when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair. “So what was it you saw, sweetheart?” he ventured at last.

Lizzie sighed in his arms, wistful, hoping that despite her gut instinct, she would find something there. “Cape May,” she said, “I dreamed of Cape May.”

And there in the dark, Red swallowed the grief that lodged in his throat. He had been there shortly after Katarina called from there. He did not hold out any hope that there would be good news. But for Lizzie, he would go again.


	14. Light into the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz journeys to their place

Cht 14

Red kept that lump in his throat all the way into New Jersey. With Dembe at the wheel, he sat in the back, his hand clasped with Elizabeth's. He told her the night before about his uneventful trip to Cape May—that it was there where he found Katarina's clothing left on the beach. But Liz stood resolute. She stressed what she told him about her "special place" with her mother. Although he did not doubt her conviction, he could not imagine such a place, and did not recall anywhere that a four year-old mind would deem special, unless it was simply because of the element of mystery Katarina had added by declaring it only for them.

Yet Liz knew. She knew that no one would check there, and that Red did not even know where it was. How could he, she questioned, she wasn't sure that anyone did. At the same time though, she was not quite sure that the place would still be there, or that someone had not found their hiding spot in the years that followed. There may be nothing left there for her. So she squeezed his hand for reassurance as they pulled into the abandoned parking lot. The imposing structure looked more ominous, now that it was derelict and slightly run down. A couple of shingles hung from an eave further down, and one of the windows was cracked. No light shone from inside.

"Dembe, see if there are any generators around," he said once they made their way inside, as they stood taking stock of the dusty and dim reception area. They would have to keep to the back side of the inn, so as not to have any light showing on the roadside, but for the night they should be able to have adequate shelter there. The furniture had all been covered, and there was the faint smell of mothballs. No droppings anywhere, he mused. Red wondered briefly what sort of rations the kitchens might provide, as Lizzie stepped to the French doors at the back, where a large terrace stretched nearly the length of the building. He started to stop her as she unlatched the doors, but knew that her anxiety would not ease until she found the place she wanted. He even wondered briefly if the place would still be there, whatever it was. Red braced a hand against his hip holster, unsnapping it just in case. Wherever Lizzie's place was, it could be housed by vagrants. He was frankly surprised the inn itself didn't seem to be, except the local law probably kept an eye on it, and it appeared that someone checked on it every so often to make sure it did not wind up with an infestation.

He followed Liz out the door, watching as she shielded the sun from her eyes with a hand over her brow. Liz looked outward, along the boardwalk to the water, then turned left and headed the length of the terrace, past stacked up deck chairs and loungers. She waddled slowly enough, her little feet turned out a bit from her hips rotating outward now. Lizzie braced a hand under the swell of her belly as she walked, patting absently as she passed the old innkeeper's workshop. Red marveled as she picked her way up between two steep dunes and crossed them at the divide. Where in the world was she going?

Liz nearly crawled up the crest of the large dunes, making Red want to brace her with a hand, but kept going doggedly focused on her destination. He was on the brink of telling her to turn back, that surely nothing would be left out in the elements all these years, but no sooner were the words on the tip of his tongue than she scooted almost on her butt down the other side of the dunes and clambered upright again at the base of them. Red followed her, mystified as he turned to look at the opposite side where they had come down. There in the side of the dune was a small iron door. He almost laughed. There at the edge of the property was what appeared to be an old bomb shelter. The irony of it was almost too much.

He helped Lizzie try the door, as the salty air had not done wonders for the iron. There were large rusted patches, and the handle almost wouldn't budge. The latch scraped awfully. "Hold on a second, sweetheart," he urged, "and I'll check that workshop for some type of lubricant."

Wringing her hands a bit, hunching up against the brisk ocean breeze, Liz turned once and dropped unceremoniously to the dune, nestling in to wait while Red traipsed back over the side of the massive shelter. For he knew now that the dune had been expanded to house the thick cement walls it likely held underneath. Within minutes, Red was back with Dembe in tow--Dembe with a crow bar, and Red with an old can of WD-40. He sprayed down the hinges and latch on the old door, while Dembe used the curve of the crow bar to chisel away at hunks of rust. Since the handle still would not budge, Dembe instead put his attention to lifting the hinge bolts out of their holes. With the bolts gone, he simply wedged the bar in the crevice and levered the door open. It dropped to the ground, and as the wind blew into the long abandoned spot, it sent spirals of musty smelling dust curling out into the salty air.

The trio looked into the gaping dark cavern lined with metal shelves with still-sealed foodstuffs and supplies, an old camp bed and dusty blanket along the back wall. There was a work table and bar stools across from the camp bed with an ancient crank radio. Lizzie stepped gingerly in, Red close behind her, and Dembe cast an eye around the dunes outside, trying to see if anyone was around. Nothing but seagulls squawking in protest at the invasion on their territory. He looked back into the shelter to see Lizzie standing at the worktable, a hank of papers in one hand, and something dangling from the other.

Her eyes blurred as she began reading the faded page. She blinked the tears away as Red rubbed his hands up and down her arms, before bracing her back against his chest. He read enough over her shoulder to know what she had in her hands. The old locket may have been covered in tarnish, but he remembered it well enough. It was one Katarina always wore.

 _Dearest Masha_ , it read, _I trust that you remember all our games well enough that you could lead Sam or Ben here. I never wanted any of this to happen the way it has, but I feel this is my last and best choice. I want you to understand that_ none _of this is your fault, my baby. The responsibility is mine. I chose this world, against my father's wishes. He wanted me to be nothing like him, as he was forced into this world after the war. I always thought it exciting and never felt the fears and remorse that he did. We fought often, and it is something I regret to this day along with this: I never should have pulled you into this life. I should have kept you innocent, let you be a child, and quit the life myself when you came along as Raymond suggested. But when I first found myself pregnant, I considered my work a legacy that I could pass from my father, through myself, and on to you. Raymond however had a change of heart, and we nearly broke up because of it. He loved me, I know he did, as he loved you. And he wanted out for all of us. Ben was right. I ruined everything. I found out some things, more than what I have shown you. Tell Ben everything, and he will help. Give him the device we put in Rabbit. Tell him what the dangers are, where the bad men are, and what I taught you. He can figure out the rest and fill in the gaps with what you know. He can share the burden I put on you. He has nothing left too, and that is also my fault._

_Your mother, Masha, has done terrible things and I have to atone._

_I have to go so that you can be safe. No one will come after you if they know I am gone. No one will look any further than my death. They will think my secrets died with me. Were it not for you, I would welcome this. I want to stay, want to see you grow to be a strong woman. Much stronger than me. I have no doubt that Ben will keep you safe, and Sam. They are good men, and though Sam is not used to little girls, he is a quick study. Give him a chance, Masha. I suppose you are Elizabeth now. Know that as I go, I take all the stain and sin. I never should have told you to do what you did, never should have put that on you, my darling. I should have listened to Raymond. Now the best I can do is deflect all the danger that could ever touch you and let it end here. That is my hope. For you, my girl, I wish a normal boring life. Everything I should have given you. I am so sorry, bunny._

_Love,_

_Mama_

 

* * *

 

Red resumed rubbing her arms as Dembe picked among the detritus, marveling at old newspapers while he kept a respectful distance. Liz sniffled and folded the locket into the papers, turning into Red's arms and giving a watery sigh. If nothing else, she thought, this gave her closure. Dembe, sensing that their time was done, turned and pushed up the sandy hill and back over the side, leading the way silently. Red followed Lizzie over, bringing up the rear. As they crossed back over the dune, a man some way down the beach spotted them and waved. The men watched warily, as the man trailed his way over, a metal detector slung casually over his arm.

"Howareya?" he greeted, nasally Jersey accent winging its way across the ocean breeze.

"Hello," Liz returned, picking her way across patchy sea grass.

"Heckuva place for a walk," he ventured. "What youse doing out heah?"

 _North Jersey_ , Liz thought to herself. _Not from here_.

"We are actually following up leads on a cold case," Liz said, procuring her badge from a jacket pocket and casting a glance over her shoulder at Red and Dembe. Luckily they kept enough of a casual distance and looked like they could be official. "A woman went missing here a couple decades ago. You don't sound like south Jersey though," she smiled. "I don't suppose you've been here long?"

"Aw, yeah I have, it's become home. Originally I'm from Trenton. Mah parents came down in the early 80s; fixed up that inn there. They passed in the past few years. Ah been tryin to fix it up, gotta put it up to market."

Liz nodded. "So your parents were Ida and Jack Powell?"

"Ayuh. Kenny Powell heah."

"Kenny," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry to hear they passed."

"It was time for Ma, 'specially with Pop gone," he replied, rubbing absently at his beard. "Ma had Alzheimer's, finally got ta where she wouldn't eat nuthin. Couldn't remember even. Pop had a heart attack a few years ago. What were you sayin about a woman disappeared?"

Liz waved him off, "it was years ago. Your parents wouldn't have been here long. A woman left her clothes on the beach; we have reason to believe she walked into the beach, committed suicide."

She tried to keep her voice level, but she detected the barest waver. He didn't seem to notice, instead he latched onto the story.

"I dunno about a suicide, but I know Pop found a deranged homeless woman on the beach one morning. Raving about spies and such. They had to haul her out to county hospital, lock her up. Said she was suicidal and paranoid, flat crazy. Stark naked he said, and out of her mind."

He spat companionably on the ground even as Liz felt the ground tilt under her. She looked over at Red, who stood just within earshot, and saw his gaze sharpen.

"What was her name, do you know?" he spoke up.

"Aw hell, I don't remember," the man said, cackling. "They said she kept giving them two different names. Rostokob one time, something else the next."

"You said they took her to the county hospital?" Red continued, trying to elicit more information.

Liz felt like her throat was closing up.

"Ayuh, they took all the cranks out there. It's the only psychiatric unit for miles."

"Where would they house permanent psychiatric residents," Liz cut in, finding her voice at last as she latched onto the idea.

"They have a single ward there for the ones that can't be helped. Permanent cases would be there. Ya think that's your girl?"

"It's worth a shot," Liz said noncommittally, sharing a quiet look of hope with Red. Maybe, their look said, just maybe.


	15. Shock and Awe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What became of Katarina Rostova

Cht 15

 

Liz worried her lip, anxious on this car ride for an entirely different reason. She sat in silence while Red pulled whatever strings he could to finalize what she was about to do. What _they_ were about to do.

“It will be okay, Elizabeth,” Dembe intoned from the front seat, after catching her eye in the rearview mirror. She offered him a small smile and nodded, but her forehead still creased. Red looked over at her, squeezing her hand comfortingly as he listened to the person on the other end.

The day before had been hectic for everyone. Dembe and Red collectively decided against kipping at the abandoned inn, and instead found a quaint little B&B that rented beach shacks even in the off season. They set up housing there, Red intent on making his own risotto while he rattled on mistily about the seductive trattoria keeper who taught him her family recipe. Dembe began making phone calls then, trying to get a line on who the closest forger was in case they needed documents. Liz did her part by calling the Post Office and apprising Cooper of the situation…then asking for a large favor.

As they rolled to a stop at the county hospital, Liz shifted the folder in her hands, running her finger over the badge she had placed on top of it, and sent up a silent prayer that everything went smoothly with no questions.

Dembe stayed with the car while she and Red went in, Red catching the door for her and chuckling at her slow, waddling gait. As they approached the wiry-haired receptionist, Liz’s confidence wavered.

“Agent Keen, FBI,” she said as she slid her badge off the top of the folder and across the counter. “I have some questions about a potential lead on an old case we’ve been working. I believe someone connected to it may be housed here under the name of Katarina Rostova, or that she may have used another name.”

She crossed her fingers under the folder, praying that the hopeful tone in her voice was attributed to it having been such a tenuous lead on a long-time cold case.

“You’ll have to have a subpoena to view any medical files or have access to any of the patients,” the administrator said boredly, looking over the rim of ancient pair of bifocals.

“Yes, I have that here,” Liz smiled tersely, sliding the folder across the counter.

The receptionist gave it a once over, then paged a Dr Morse over the intercom. “If you’d have a seat, our chief physician will be on his way down.”

Several minutes later, a tall man, wide of forehead and dressed in clothes that looked like they fit forty pounds ago, came through one of the mint green colored doors labeled Admitting. He was wearing a lab coat and sporting a Brylcreemed combover.

“Hiya folks,” he said, with a weak handshake, “what can I do for you?”

It was the kind of passive, conciliatory tone her own pediatrician had had in Nebraska. She briefly wondered if all physicians took a class in affected bedside manners.

“We have some questions about one of the patients you may house here, in connection to an old case of ours. We’ve had some recent leads come to light, and would be grateful for your assistance,” Red smiled winningly.

“Certainly, certainly,” he said breezily, then escorted them back to a cramped office. Absent an extra chair, Red chose to stand and clasping his hat in one hand, took a cursory and slightly critical look around. Books and papers littered every surface, there was a stained Dunkin Donuts napkin on the corner of the desk with an ancient looking IBM computer. It felt very much like stepping back into the 70s, and he did not miss those days. Except maybe Margorie Dequesne. Now that girl… He mentally shook his head as Lizzie introduced the case and mentioned how Katarina might have been found. He noticed the catch in the good doctor’s body language, the tell that he suddenly understood exactly who Liz was referencing. The description of how she was found clearly rang a bell as Dr Morse stopped nodding for a half second and instead of looking like he was listening intently, actually started to do so.

“Amy Scott.”

Liz stopped mid-sentence, describing the state of the woman when she was found on the beach so many years ago, “pardon?”

“Her name was Amy Scott, the lady you’re referring to, and after reviewing your subpoena, I can tell you that she did in fact give herself a Russian name at one point. She spoke what she swore was Russian at one point, but by the time we called in an expert who could verify, she refused to comply so we felt the need to admit her permanently, as she was clearly delusional. No one ever came forward to speak for her as far as family members or a spouse, and she did display some violent tendencies at first. Every time she is up for reassessment, she seems to drop back into her delusions, as though the stress of being released or sent to a therapy home is too much for her, and she regresses.”

“I’d like to speak with her if that’s at all possible,” Liz choked out, struggling to breathe, as it felt the air in the room had grown dense and the space all too small. Suddenly, it felt the walls were closing in and the sounds of everything dropped away behind a buzzing in her ears. Could her mother really be right down a hallway? How was she? Where was she? Was she really delusional? Was she playing them for safety here, knowing she had secured her child safely away?

Liz’s hands shook, and she was vaguely aware of the doctor answering in the affirmative. Was grateful for Red’s steady hand on her arm as she rose, numbly, and followed the doctor out the door.

Dr Morse led the way down the hall to the elevator and stood aside as they entered. Liz gave a cursory glance at Red, who flashed her a hopeful smile, before allowing her to settle inside. He stood close, but not so close as to arouse suspicion. When the elevator shuddered to a stop with a ding, announcing their floor, Liz followed the doctor about a third of the way down the hall, stopping when he did outside door 313. A nondescript door, in a nondescript hallway, and on the other side of it, she might just find her mother. Liz shivered, and behind the doctor, who was unlocking the door, Red brushed his fingers down Liz’s back in a gesture of silent support.

The doctor stepped in, with Liz close behind him. The woman was sitting at a desk by the window, gazing out over the top of a book left forgotten on the desktop. Her back was to them, her hair a shock of white. At the sound of the door opening, she rose somewhat shakily, and turned to face them. Her drowsy eyes glazed with anti-psychotic meds, her face bloated from her prolonged drug use, time, and lack of personal care. But Liz’s breath caught nonetheless, as she stifled a sob and tried to regain her composure quickly before the man before her noticed something amiss.

“Dr Morse,” said that lilting voice that sent a chill of remembrance down Liz’s spine. “Who is this?” said Katarina.

 


	16. Out of the murky depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz secures Katarina's release

Cht 16

 

Katarina’s gaze quickly flicked over to Red, her eyes for a moment darkening with knowledge. Liz knew it unlikely that her mother would recognize her after so many years, now a woman grown, but Re—Ben, she mentally corrected—was a dead ringer for Raymond Reddington. She nearly chuckled at the irony and dark humor of that.

“ _Eto ya, mama. Masha. My zdes', chtoby otvezti vas v seyf. Eto pochti zakonchilos'_.”

Katarina glanced back at her, startled, and recovered quickly with a shake of her head. Covering the foible, Liz spoke to Dr Morse with a slow shake of her own. “You’re right, she seems to know no Russian,” Liz supplied, “however, she does match photographs of the missing person in question, so I will have to have her remanded into my custody.”

“I still have to remand her directly into the care of a physician, or at least a professional in psychiatry.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Liz smiled ruefully, “if you had read the packet behind the subpoena paperwork, you would have seen that I am also a licensed professional in the field of psychology who used to work for the FBI’s mobile psych unit. I have always had a yearning to understand the criminal mind.”

She finished her statement with a pointed look back at Katarina.

“Well then,” Dr Morse said, clearing his throat, “I suppose that’s in order then. We’ll have to offer her a pair of stray scrubs that were donated for indigent patients, as she cannot keep the gown.”

“I think we can work with that,” Katarina spoke up, her voice now stronger than it was.

“Splendid,” Red exclaimed, donning his hat and clasping his hands. “We have _much_ to discuss.”

 

 

Moments later they were in the car, all but speeding away. Katarina, still handcuffed between Liz and Red, said nothing for quite a while. At last she spoke up, and already Liz could tell that her wheels were turning as the anti-psychotics were already wearing off. Dr Morse had warned her that “Amy” was nearly due for another dose.

“So,” she said slowly, her speech still a bit slurred, “where are we going?”

“We’re _going_ to take you off of most of your meds,” Liz rejoined. “The anti-psychotics mainly. But since you were suicidal when you…disappeared…I think it best that we keep you on the fluoxepine. That being said, and provided you are not a flight risk anymore, we can see about taking you off diazepam. I can’t really diagnose or prescribe, but I’m sure Nik will say the same.”

“Lizzie, are you certain—“Red cut in.

“Yes,” Liz replied sharply, aware now that her mother was watching them both closely.

“Mother,” Liz began softly, “you remember _Ben_ , I’m sure.” She stressed his name in order to get through to Katarina the fact that this was not in fact her long dead lover…it was Liz’s very much alive one. The awkwardness of that truth rankled a bit, since they apparently bore such a strong resemblance, but was quickly stifled. Sam was the only father she had ever truly known.

“What’s to happen to me now?” Katarina queried lowly. Liz braced a hand on the woman’s forearm and felt her stiffen. She still did not fully trust that she had been rescued.

“Re—Ben…says he has a place for you. A safehouse there with someone you would recall—“ Liz furrowed her brow, not really understanding where Katarina was to be taken for safe-keeping.

“Dom,” Red said, flatly, almost with an accusatory tone, “I’m taking you to Dom. He’s been holed up in a safehouse—the safehouse where you were both originally intended—for years now.”

At last Katarina raised her eyes to Ben. “I am sorry,” she said softly. Ben simply nodded and looked out the window.

As the silence stretched, Liz felt the question burning and had to ask, “who is Dom, exactly?”

She got two more different looks from the other passengers. Katarina’s surprised head tilt as she cast a glance over to Ben, and Ben’s somewhat chagrined grimace. Liz even caught Dembe’s raised brows before he cleared his features to a passive stare over the wheel.

Ben cleared his throat, going full Reddington again. “He’s your grandfather, Lizzie,” he stated matter of factly.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I have a grandfather?!”_

Katarina and Dembe both looked up at the noise echoing from the next room. A hissing sputter followed even as they could hear Red—well _Ben’s_ —muttering protestations.

Several things occurred to Katarina as she watched Dembe preparing a gnocchi soup he’d learned to make in Tuscany. He had been telling Katarina the story in an effort to try and mask the sounds of an argument coming from one of the bedrooms, but Liz’s voice reached a pitch that suddenly could not be ignored. By now Katarina had come to understand that her daughter—if indeed that _was_ her daughter—was involved with Ben. She wondered vaguely if the argument was staged for her benefit, but the girl also seemed to be genuinely under the impression that she actually was Masha, but that remained to be seen.

Katarina pondered the likelihood that it was his child “Lizzie” was carrying, and the likelihood that Katarina herself would indeed be delivered to her father in short order. If she wasn’t, she couldn’t imagine what they would have in store for her or what was going on. She wasn’t to be killed just yet, because otherwise they would have dispatched her by now, so they must want information. That likely meant torture and eventual death when she was of no use anymore, worst case scenario, but Ben had been one of the good guys years ago and she could not imagine him wanting to torture and kill her for intel…unless he bore a grudge for what happened to his family. Best case scenario, he was unaware that she had been involved, this _was_ her daughter, and she _was_ on her way to reunite with her father.

Her thoughts circled around all the possibilities, in addition to the cold reality that she had nowhere to run now. There were no resources or means for her to do so, beyond her quick thinking, and right now that was still subdued by decades of psychotropic drugs. Then there was the fact that she had been out of the world for so long, living in a drug-induced haze had left her adrift and cut off from knowledge of the outside. She seemed to be hindered all the way around, and the best option for now was to observe her captors, or rescuers, as the case may be. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that the girl was under the impression she was Masha—Elizabeth, she corrected.

“Your soup smells wonderf—“ she began, stopping abruptly at the sound of something breaking in the next room.

_“Is there ANY more family of mine out there that I don’t know about?!”_   
_“Lizzie, calm down. I had to keep all of you separate in case one was—“_   
_“Calm down?? No one in the history of being told to calm down has ever been able to just calm down!”_

Whatever Ben muttered next she did not know—something about the whole family being temperamental, but the sound of a slamming door signaled the end of the argument, as Lizzie stormed into the kitchen presently, her eyes a stormy sea of rankled cobalt.

Try as she might, Katarina could not quite stifle the laughter that erupted when Dembe had to turn abruptly to avoid snorting into the soup, before he doubled over at the counter and struggled hard to regain his composure. He saw Liz’s nostrils flare and Red stalk into the room behind her with one corner of his mouth raised in contrite irritation.

“So, ah, Dembe, what time is dinner exactly?”

 

 

* * *

 

  
Liz’s statement is a rough pronunciation of this:

Это я, мама. Маша. Мы здесь, чтобы отвезти вас в сейф. Это почти закончилось.  
It’s me, mama. Masha. We’re here to take you to a safehouse. It’s almost over.


	17. Surfacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **Trigger warnings for PTSD, self-harm/depression survivors.** Also, I know I said this would only be a couple of chapters. I had no idea what would come out of Katarina resurfacing the way she has, but it has become a story in itself that must be told, and I found that she does still have things to say and do.

 

Cht 17

 

Liz sat on the lid of the toilet while Katarina showered. Not only was Katarina a flight risk, but now out in the world again, while the threat was still imminent, she also may _still_ be suicidal. Liz allowed her the safety razor she had brought in her own travel bag, but stayed close to keep Katarina from breaking it to use the small blade.

“Ben seems like he hasn’t changed much,” Katarina ventured, over the hiss of the shower spray, “for all he looks like the very image of your father.”

Liz ignored the dig and instead focused on Katarina’s hedging. She wanted information, Liz knew, to try and suss out their dynamics both personally and professionally. Instead Liz steered the conversation away, not ready to discuss their personal connection. As far as she was concerned, she had very little emotional connection to her mother and though there definitely needed to be some rebuilding there—if at all—it would have to come later. More than anything she needed information that Katarina had. Anything that could still be relevant.

“When my father died,” Liz began, haltingly, “he left the fulcrum with me. For the longest time, the memory of what happened to it was blocked, but eventually I remembered.”

“You _lost_ your memories?” Katarina asked, snapping her head around the curtain, her grey eyes locked onto Liz’s, assessing.

“Not lost. Buried,” Liz corrected. “When I first met Red—Ben, as I know now—he was operating under my father’s cover. Still is, in fact. But he had blocked my memories, of everything before I lived with Sam. I have been working these past several months to resurface them. I took the map you taught me, point by point, and have uncovered everything you basically downloaded into my mind.”

“It was your training,” she said softly, having tucked her face back behind the curtain again to turn the taps off. “That cannot be helped now. What have you done with the knowledge?”

“Every session I have had has been filed into intelligence reports,” Liz answered as Katarina stepped out, wrapping herself in the towel to stand dripping in front of Liz.

She looked better now from the flush of the steam, and her eyes were losing the drugged glaze. She seemed sharper, clearer thinking, and with the sweep of steely grey hair and cloudy eyes, she reminded Liz of a fox. For good reason, Liz mused, for she was just as wily.

“It was true what I said to Dr Morse,” Liz said, planting her feet and straightening to her full height. She was a full inch above her mother now. No mere child of four. “I do work for the FBI, and have been using Ben—as Reddington—as my CI. I’ve also been doing regression sessions to call up the memories.”

“It’s what he wanted me to do—Ben, that is,” Katarina smiled ruefully, “even Raymond, toward the end.” Her eyes clouded over for a different reason this time, remembering what all happened the night of the fire, and what her daughter lived through because of it. “They wanted me as their asset, to defect when everything broke.”

So there was some regret, Liz reasoned, assessing her response for signs of deceit. She seemed to be in earnest though, although true sociopaths could fake those emotions. Time would tell, but Liz still offered an olive branch.

“We may need your help before much longer, if you’re up to it,” she said. “It’s too much stress for the baby, and my system, to do any regressions right now.”

“You should not have to regress to call them up though,” Katarina said quietly, watchfully, “all you have to do is go to your room.”

A chill of recognition shivered down Liz’s spine. She knew, remembered, and gasped at the revelation that skittered over her skin. “Oh my god.”

“You had forgotten that.”

“Yes,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips.

Katarina nodded, still watching Liz. “There’s no need to relive all your traumas just yet. Compartmentalize. I taught you how to do that as well,” she said in a stronger voice now. “Only in recent years have I been able to do that again, without feeling like the world was crashing in on me. That at least can help _you_. That may be _some_ good I have done.” She jerked a shoulder defensively, as she began to pat dry and then dress, “I have had much time to come to terms with mine, but if yours is buried, there is still time for you to cope as well and heal. But later. You’re right. If there is still a threat, and there are forces and people willing to help, we should be able to accomplish something. I felt that I had no one. I thought your father was against me, that he and Ben were on a fool’s errand, and we could never do what we needed to, just the three of us.”

“Well there are more of us now,” Liz reasoned assuringly. “The fulcrum was released to journalists the world over who are investigating leads even still, and the intelligence community is flush and flooded with reports that detail even more.”

Unable to form words from the lump that lodged itself in her throat, Katarina merely nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

It was later at night, in the wee hours of morning, that Liz heard the crash and launched herself out of bed. Ben was right behind her as she flung herself across the short hallway and into the doorway of her mother’s room. She flipped the light on to see Dembe already struggling with Katarina as she thrashed and tried futilely to break his hold on her. She tried headbutting him as he tilted his head aside just in time.

“Katarina no!” he said as she tried in vain to gain leverage and kick him. “Take a breath,” he urged more calmly, “remember where you are. Who you are with. Look around you and let it sink in.”

Chest heaving, wild-eyed, Katarina’s gaze locked on Liz standing framed in the hallway with Ben behind her.

“Ya zhena biznesmena, chto ya mogu vam rasskazat'?”

“Mama, ty v bezopasnosti. Slushayte Dembe.”

“Dembe?”

“Yes, he’s trying to keep you from harming yourself or him. Take a breath,” Liz urged as Katarina stopped struggling. She stayed tense, her hands vised on his forearms. But she was listening.

“Mother, do you understand where you are? Do you remember who we are?”

Still panting, Katarina struggled to take a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“Can Dembe let you go now?”

“Yes,” was her hoarse reply.

Dembe loosened his grip, sweeping her legs up with his arms and laid her gently on the bed so she was propped against the headboard. He sat down by her feet.

“You deal with enough hell in here,” he said, touching his forehead. “I have dealt with plenty of that myself. It is time to give yourself a break while you are awake. You cannot change your past and what you have done, but now is your chance to help build a better future.”

With that, he stood from the bed and walked out of the room past Liz and Ben.

“Mother,” Liz said slowly, “what were you dreaming?”

For a moment Katarina said nothing, as though she could not quite bring herself to form the words. Her face, though pale and sweaty, went a greenish hue. “Fitch. He handed me over to Peter Kotsiopoulis…do you remember him?”

Liz and Ben both nodded grudgingly.

“He’s dead now, Katarina.”

“Good,” she said with venom, before turning quickly and vomiting on the floor. As Liz hurried forward to help her up off her knees where she landed, Dembe came through the door with a glass of water and a pill bottle.

Ben moved to the bathroom for a cold wet towel and dipped into the kitchen for some paper towels.

The men commenced to clean up as Liz helped Katarina back onto the bed, shushing her apologies and smoothing her hair back.

“I’m going to make some toast, so you can take the anti-anxiety meds Dembe brought.”

“I will make it,” he cut in, “you stay with your mother.”

Ben bagged the paper towels and went for some disinfecting wipes to clean the area, bagging everything and taking the trash away as Dembe headed off to the kitchen.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who has some healing to do still,” Liz said ruefully, “I guess compartmentalizing doesn’t always work.”

“I have not had flashbacks or nightmares for years,” Katarina said tearfully. “This is starting to bring everything to the surface again, all the pain, the guilt, shame. It’s like lancing a boil,” she said, trying to smile. “It can only help.”

Liz tucked the blanket around her mother’s legs as Dembe brought the toast in on a plate. “Eat slowly, and the anxiety meds will definitely stay, just in case. Apparently I was wrong. I misjudged the impact this would all have on you, along with cutting your meds. You do still need them.”

Katarina nodded, chewing slowly. She picked up the water, sipped.

“I want to help,” she said finally, “I may not be ready for the field, I may not have the same connections, and I may not be up to the fight, but I can do something. I want to do something.”

“Then we’ll see what we can do,” Liz said simply. “Everyone working on this, they _will_ go down.”

 

* * *

 

 

Russian:

“я жена бизнесмена, что я могу вам рассказать?”  
“I am a businessman's wife, what can I possibly tell you?”

“Мама, ты в безопасности. Слушайте Дембе.”  
“Mama, you are safe. Listen to Dembe.”


	18. Dusting off the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Katarina combine forces. The Secret Keeper and her protege.

Cht 18

 

It was a quiet, somewhat restrained car ride back to the city. Red sat up front with Dembe, ostensibly to let the women bond in the back. They held a stilted conversation about the babies; how far along they were, how much they had developed at this stage. Katarina offered up a few memories of Liz as a baby, but kept having to catch herself and stop calling her Masha. Red giggled at the exchange when Katarina mentioned a projectile vomiting incident that hit Kate squarely in the chest.

Katarina meanwhile seemed a bit apprehensive about meeting Kate again, after she left their lives so abruptly. When the car finally pulled into the drive though, Kaplan was standing on the sidewalk nearby, wearing a tailored tweed suit and a pensive expression.

“Kate,” Katarina ventured, as she exited the car.

“Katarina,” Kaplan nodded curtly, but her voice broke on that last syllable, and she produced a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “I’ve missed you,” she finished brokenly.

The women hesitated a moment, then collapsed into a sniffling hug, before Kate abruptly pulled back and shook her once. “Why did you do--? Why? I thought you were—“

“I’m sorry, Kate,” Katarina’s voice broke as well, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, I felt trapped, and I felt like that was the only way—“

“Never,” Kate said again, “that is _never_ the way to go! Never especially to leave behind your little girl and everyone who cares about you.”

She pulled Katarina back into a fierce embrace and held her. Liz’s eyes teared up as well, and she reached for Red’s hand even as Dembe walked toward the house, wanting to give the women some semblance of privacy. Red squeezed Liz’s hand and then walked toward Dembe. Liz stepped up to Kate and Katarina, linking her arms around them.

“It’s alright now,” Liz said, “we have each other and even more. All of us against all of them. No one is in this alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Red gave it a day or so before he approached Liz, who reluctantly agreed that it was time to finish their mission of reporting everything that they could and spreading the word as to the works and structure of the cabal. She went to Katarina, who had been staying with Kate ever since her return, and together they sat in an impromptu memory session. The task force came by twos, ditching their weapons and phones in a box with Kate outside the two bedrooms they were using as temporary therapy rooms. Dr Orchard sat in one room with Liz while her assistant, an intern named Anelise, monitored what was essentially a meditation with Katarina. The older woman sat silently, breathing deeply, almost imperceptibly relaxing with each exhale. When she began speaking, it was almost a monotone, and the information that began flowing, nearly exactly matched what Liz revealed in her own session.

Nothing like unwitting corroboration from multiple sources, Ressler would think to himself later as he read through the reports.

But at the time, Liz sat in her own room, with Red almost standing guard over her. Dembe was posted outside in the hall between both rooms, should he be needed, and Kate sat alongside Katarina in her session—much as Samar was doing for Liz.

Liz herself sat on a large, tufted cushion backed up to the side of the bed. For the first time since the stressful session that had nearly led to her bedrest, she felt a sense of promise. Thanks to her mother’s suggestion, she knew exactly what to do. She closed her eyes, leaning against the bedside for support, and let the mind chatter still with each drawn out breath. She pictured herself in a library lobby, a large fountain in the center of an atrium there. Liz visualized herself taking every problem and worry, balling them up in her hands, and dropping them into the water to sink like a stone. As a child the ball was smaller, and she skipped away as it sunk. Now, though larger, and though she was out of practice with her imagery, everything came back to her easily.

She walked quickly back toward the stacks of books at the rear of the room. Several shelves were crisscrossed back and forth over the aisles with large padlocked chains. Now is the time, she thought to herself and touched the lock, seeing it spring open on its own accord. The chains dropped to the ground, and she stepped over. Liz knew many of the tomes’ information had already been delved into thanks to calling up the memories, almost through a back door in her psyche. Instead of going straight to the location where she housed her knowledge, her memories before had allowed her to call up when the information was collected for her to use later. Now she simply went to the place where she housed it, and brought it forth. In her mind’s eye, she veritably had to wipe off years of neglect in the form of cobwebs and dust from the books she used for her cataloguing.

Hither and yon as she paced though, almost restlessly, she knew she looked for one thing in particular. Stopping once in the center of the aisle she remembered the look and feel of the exact one she wanted. She turned around, and there on a pedestal on the back wall was a large tome with a thick leather binding. Liz ran her hands over the cover and a buckled clasp locking it closed suddenly unfastened and the book opened, laying flat before her as the pages shuffled to the spot she wanted. Liz smiled to herself, and in the room beyond she heard Dr Orchard ask what it was she saw.

“I know what will bring this whole house of cards down. The one name I’ve needed to bring it all together,” Liz sighed relieved at the certainty that their struggles would be over. She had gone straight to the tip of the iceberg. Everything they had learned in her training at Quantico told her this: the jugular of any crime organization—and indeed of any terrorist organization—was the financial branch. Without funding, they could not run. And without the financial head and his agents, a major center of the cabal would crumble.

“Habsburg.”

“What’s that?” Red asked, startled, before Dr Orchard hurriedly tried to shush him.

With a breath, Liz grounded herself as her mother had taught her, wiggling her toes and fingers, taking another deep breath, and then planting her hands on the floor and rolling her neck before shaking her head to wake up again.

“Levin Habsburg,” she repeated as she opened her eyes, smiling at Red, who stood aghast. “He is the CFO of the cabal’s holdings—most of them. Any financial transactions are run through him, and his minions are part of the central nucleus of what makes the cabal tick. I’ve read articles on him. Not only is he still alive and very lucrative, but he holds several defense contracts with key government personnel.”

“Of course he does,” Red said grimly, “so do I. With him. He’s been using me for years it seems, beating me at my own game, without me ever realizing it. Why did I never think of him?”

“Because he has funded everything—much like Floriana Campo did—through non-violence organizations… like the International Peace Treaty organization.”

Red let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head ruefully.

“Well Lizzie,” he said, “well done. He’s the missing piece I never could find, much less fit. Swiss accounts, oil tycoon, and old money from the days when his family belonged to monarchies. Could be he wanted a rise to near royalty again.”

“Could be,” Liz replied tersely. “Whatever his motivations are, we’ll find out. I’ve got account numbers locked up in my head that go back to Zurich, and names of private holdings companies that will need to be investigated. All of them have links to people we now know as cabal members and others who are likely to be. Right here.”

She tapped her forehead to indicate how much information she had called up, and Red’s face gleamed at the prospect. If they could seize the assets of all their major accounts, the operations would be frozen and every member incapacitated. If they tried to move any of their own funds, they would be found out, as such large transactions would draw attention. If all of Lizzie’s information checked out, if it was still current, the cabal was well and truly dead in the water.

 

 


	19. Term limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more Concierge of Crime

Cht 19

 

With the information from Katarina’s and Liz’s memory sessions, Cooper wasted no time in securing no-knock warrants for not only Habsburg’s offices in New York, but his residence out in the Hamptons. Red provided him with the intel that Habsburg spent his winters there, ensconced in a Sag Harbor mansion.

By the time the highly classified reports came out from those same sessions, several intelligence agencies across the world sprang into action. Millionaire politicians and officials woke to find their funds and assets frozen, the IRS began auditing all stateside accounts, task forces much like the one at the Post Office compiled target packets and more warrants for arrest and seizure. Just as Liz predicted, the entire house of cards started collapsing. One by one, the heads of Red’s hydra would soon be lopped off.

 

* * *

 

 

Bright and early one morning, Levin Habsburg traipsed down the main stairwell in his dressing gown and pajamas to find one Raymond Reddington standing in the foyer, his guard ever at his side, just as the security alarm tripped. The gun casually clasped in his hand was the only thing that lent any menace to his otherwise jovial demeanor.

“Reddington,” Habsburg said slowing at the bottom, “to what do I deserve the pleasure?”

“Levin,” Red smiled winsomely, “I think it’s time for a chat.”

Upstairs Red’s henchmen quickly got to work. One placed an explosive device on Habsburg’s office safe, while another hacked into the security system from a control pad in the hall. The documents secured from the safe, intruder alarms successfully disarmed, they began to douse the entire upstairs with gasoline. Soon, the upper floors would be engulfed in flames.

No sooner had Red, Dembe, and Habsburg retired to the sitting room just off from the entryway, then his men bounded down the stairs and out. Habsburg spluttered in indignation over the intrusion, swearing that Red would get what was coming to him.

Red rejoined with a hearty chuckle, “Levin old boy, I certainly hope so.”

Red stood, casually stretching, and shifted his weight, angling toward Habsburg. At that very moment, the fire alarms kicked on, dulling the sound of squealing tires outside. Within seconds, chaos erupted as tactical teams breached through the entry points of the house. None other than Donald Ressler swept through the front door, as all the men in the sitting room turned. Habsburg and Dembe jumped up, even as Red swung his weapon toward Ressler. Without hesitating, Ressler popped off two rounds squarely into Red’s chest and watched the man crumple as if in slow motion. Dembe dropped to Red’s side as Habsburg raised his hands, palms outward in surrender.

The alarms still blaring, an agent in full gear moved toward Habsburg even as another rushed to Dembe. They took him out in cuffs as Ressler dropped to Red’s other side and placed two fingers alongside his carotid. He merely turned and looked at the other agents, Dembe looking on crestfallen as Ressler shook his head at the other men.

“We’re even now,” Ressler said gravely over Red’s supine body.

“Get out!” another agent yelled suddenly from the middle of the stairway, “get out now, there’s propane tanks all down the hall ready to blow! Flames are nearly to them now.”

The team quickly swept back out of the house, radioing to each other as they went and trying to get accountability. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds…as they threw their detainees in the back of an FBI van and hit the gas to put as much distance between themselves and the house as possible, they felt the van itself shake with the explosion as the blast rocked them from even several hundred meters away. Two other vans felt the heat as they pulled away, tires screeching for distance as the drivers gunned it.

 

* * *

 

 

Back in the DC area, in their safe little haven, Lizzie paced back and forth across the floor while Kate and Katarina sat before the fireplace. Kate calmly sipped at a brisk and fragrant assam as Katarina gazed into the fire, but Liz could not get comfortable. The dull ache in her back that had started in the middle of the night had now morphed into full contractions across her belly, all but making her whimper. They were trying to time them, but thus far, though they were longer and stronger, the contractions had not yet gotten bad enough to warrant a hospital trip yet.

Thoroughly discomfited, Liz finally settled in a chair before the television and flipped it on. Kaplan nearly upended her tea in trying to get to Liz in time. It was too late. Scenes from the raid splashed across the screen, but it was the tagline that arrested her attention. “REDDINGTON KILLED IN RAID?” Liz’s vision dimmed and she nearly swayed in her seat. The chatter that she had tuned out came sharply into focus, the nattering tone of the newscaster hammering at her ears, above the pulsing blood pounding. “Sources say that Raymond Reddington was shot to death today in an FBI raid at the Hamptons home of Levin Habsburg…”

Her throat constricted as she watched Navabi talking to agents in the background, and as the footage cut to Cooper standing in a tactical vest ready to speak to cameras, Liz heard the door in the entryway open. Numbly she turned as she rose out of her seat, only to freeze halfway.

“Oh, thank God!” she choked out a sob as she waddled across the room as quickly as she could, encumbered by her girth, leaning over her own belly as she clamped arms around Red as he entered the room. He caught the scenes on screen behind her as Kate and Katarina looked on.

“We tried to stop her,” Kaplan offered, “but we didn’t catch it in time. Been avoiding the television all morning, but…she got antsy I think.”

“She’s going into labor,” Katarina said quietly, “it’s nearly time, Ben.”

“Lizzie, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Red said, rubbing lazy calming circles over her back. “You weren’t to know what we were about, darling, but it’s all over.”

“What happened?” she sputtering, still weeping, “that scared me to death! They said you were shot!?”

“Minor correction: they said Raymond Reddington got shot. As is apparent, I am fine,” he smiled.

“You faked your death?” she said, looking at Kaplan and back to Red. “How?”

“A little preparation, a little drama, and a little help from Donald!” he smiled winningly, even as he urged her back to the armchair. “On the one hand, I have to lay low for a little while, but on the other, your father will finally be laid to rest. I had his remains. Had them for years in fact, with Kate’s help.”

“So it’s…it’s over? Your work with us?”

“My days as an embattled criminal are over,” he said, regarding her closely, as she was still a little pale. “But Harold and I have worked out a system to tie up a few loose ends before I retire to a quiet life.”

“Retire?” Lizzie smiled at last, “the Concierge of Crime?”

“I have a feeling all those pesky criminals will be out of work in the next couple of years or so as well. No need for me, when they’ll be vacationing in Club Fed.”


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie reflects

Epilogue

 

While poor Lizzie sweated and fretted her way through contractions progressing to dilation, to crowning, across the world secret courts and deliberating parties convened. The Federal Intelligence Surveillance Court broadened the search and seizure parameters for intelligence agencies researching into the cabal; for the first time in centuries the Star Chamber members met in hallowed halls—almost all of them, as one or two members had been outed as belonging to the unsanctioned organization, which was quickly crumbling.

By the time Red and Lizzie brought their little ones home, three people linked to the cabal had committed suicide, eight were in custody busily copping plea deals, and four were on the run. Worldwide, news reports started to trickle in and murmurs quickly became a roar of media outcry over the corporations, non-profits, and embassies that became suddenly awash in almost daily arrests. More and more, witnesses came forward, connections made as to who met with whom when, and where those meetings took place. It was as though in one swoop the entire seedy underground network had been unearthed, like someone lifted a rock and all the creepy crawlies started swarming for a place to hide, scuttling away from the light that exposed them all. But there was no refuge for them, not anymore.

For a solid month, the Burchfields of historic downtown DC sat and watched the footage, until the thrill of it waned. And waning, it gave way to the relief, a gradual unburdening of the anxiety and constant stress of wondering where the next shot would fire from or who would walk out of the shadows into their paths. It would be years before Red could really feel the comfort of not having to look over his shoulder, and still he would occasionally wake bathed in sweat, heart racing from the nightmares that would continue to plague him.

Yet as they sat now, the sleek Mercedes streaming through the gloaming, shaded by trees lining the avenue, Liz played with Ben’s fingers linked to hers. She was a little anxious, excited but anxious, though probably not near so much as her mother and Dembe following along behind with Kaplan at the wheel of another sedan. A grandfather. At long last, she thought as she looked over her shoulder to the two car seats strapped in behind them, she had the family she’d always wanted. Liz had had a great life, a wonderful childhood, with Sam. She would never forget him. But this, _this_ , she thought with a contented sigh _,_ is worth all the pain and perilous times she had lived through. And she would not trade a minute after everything it had brought her. All it had taken was one very persnickety, demanding tyrant of a criminal, she thought as she glanced back at the man behind the wheel. Now everything was as it should be.


End file.
